Edward's Sister
by Powered by 23 Kicks
Summary: What happens when you fall in love with someone who is forbidden? How does such a thing happen to begin with? An experiment in writing about an impossible kind of relationship between a brother and sister.
1. Wildcats

**This seems superfluous to state, and I'm only going to do it once, but _the _**_**Twilight characters don't belong to me**_**. **

**Chapter One: Wildcats**

Maggot Face Tyler doesn't scare me, even if he is thirteen and has the meanest face in the neighborhood.

He scowls at all us girls and swings his fist at us like he's going to punch us, but he won't dare follow through. Rosalie would punch him back. She has twice before; the first time in second grade because he stole Emmett's candy bar, the second time just two weeks ago when he pulled my bathing suit bottoms down in front of everyone at the pond. So now, when he's trying to look like all mean as he tilts his head and hocks out a long stream of spit in my direction, I just roll my eyes. He must've taken a drink from the can of Mountain Dew at his side first, because he made it almost halfway to me, and normally he's not that good. It takes a lot of spit and force to make it past three feet.

We're playing baseball at the Valley Meadows Park until the high school boys kick us out around three when it's time to practice. It's already so hot that if I let my eyes cross, I can see heat waves above the dirt.

"What are you doing off the pitcher's mound, asshole?" Mike yells at Tyler.

Mike's the catcher, and probably the best player here. He almost always cracks the ball over everyone's head, even over Jacob's and Sam's outstretched gorilla arms.

"She can't hit the ball from there, asshole. This here's Bella Bunt It." Tyler snorts. "Bella Cunt Hit It."

I grit my teeth and swing the bat towards him like I know what I'm doing. It's too heavy and pulls me out of step, which makes Tyler laugh harder, but it's the only bat we have until Alice and Emmett show up. It's Sunday and their parents make them go to church and eat lunch together, so they won't get here until after noon at least.

"You're holding up the game, numb nuts," Rosalie yells. Neither she nor I have graduated to swearing in front of anyone yet, but if anyone can drive us to it, it'll be Maggot Face Tyler.

He glares at her. She's playing third baseman on his team against his wishes purely to keep him from cheating. She flips him a double bird and Tyler spits in her direction, but the breeze kicks up just then and blows it onto his shirt. I bend over at the waist and blow a snot bubble I'm laughing so hard.

"C'mon, Bella. Batter _uhhhhhp_!" Edward's voice is deep and commanding. Just two months ago, he couldn't talk without sounding like Mickey Mouse in the middle of a sentence. Not that he talks much. He turned twelve last month, but he seems much older than the rest of us . Mom says he was born an old soul, whatever that means. Maybe that they don't laugh much? Or seem to know everything? Or that they always have to be in charge? Cause that's Edward all over.

"One out, you guys. We gotchu, fuckers! You might as well just stand there and look pretty, Bella," Jake says, trying to sound cool. He looks over at Sam to see if he's paying attention, but Sam could care less. He's only here because Emily's here , but she's only here because Rose is here. It's complicated.

I take a breath and do a left foot, right foot shuffle over home plate, digging the toe of my left sneaker deeper into the dirt because the ground's a little uneven. My grip is almost on the fat part of the bat, but I've got my game mindset going. A drop of sweat runs down my back , tickling me until I squirm.

"Got an itchy crotch?" Tyler yelled. "Go on and scratch it, we'll wait."

More than I'd like to knock one into-or clear over Tyler's head-I want to make Edward proud of me. Jasper's on second and Edward is up next. He expects me to at least hit the ball, even if it's an out, and I'm going to _die _if I miss it. For hours last night, and until Alice and her bat had to go home, he pitched me overhand balls until I hit more than I didn't.

Suddenly Tyler whips the ball my way. I feel a breeze at my chin and jerk back so quickly that I stumble and fall hard on my butt. For a moment, my brain's all a-slosh, then I see

everyone's watching Edward walk to the pitcher's mound. I stay where I'm at on the ground. Tyler's face looks defiant, but pinched. Edward's is expressionless, which is bad news for Tyler.

Edward can do this thing with his eyes. With his face. He doesn't have to say a word when he's angry-the look he gives you is all he needs to do to scare the crap out of you. From the way Tyler's face blanches, I don't think he likes it any better than I do.

I have to give Tyler credit, though. He's shorter than Edward—most of us are—but he's not backing down. The seconds stretch and I finally stand, wondering if I should speak up and tell Edward I'm fine. I kinda sorta don't want everyone to remember I'm his little sister. I just want to be a player on the team. And I don't understand why Edward's making such a big deal out of this, he never has before, and this isn't fun anymore.

"Yo," someone says. I don't know him, he's new, but he came with Jake.

Tyler's gaze flicks to me, then back to Edward. Tyler's mouth gapes and he looks like he's going to argue, but then Edward's back goes ramrod straight and suddenly he and Tyler are nose-to-nose. I run over because no one else is, obviously, and enough is enough.

"Edward," I pant. He ignores me.

Tyler takes a step back, then another before he lowers his gaze. I see his chest moving unevenly and feel sorry for him. He's an ugly bully, but Edward just pwnd him without saying a word in front of almost the entire kid population of Valley Meadows. Whoever wasn't here today will know all about it by dinner tonight. Tyler's days of giving noogies and wet will is are numbered.

"Sorry, Bella," he mumbles to his feet.

"It's o-"

"Say it to _her_."

Tyler's head snaps up. He looks _this _close to barfing. "I'm sorry, Bella." If he wasn't sorry before, he sure is now.

I look at Edward. His eyes are still that black color they turn when he's angry. "Ready to play again?" I ask.

He can tell I'm embarrassed. It makes him smile, but it doesn't soften the look in his eyes.

"Sure. Tyler's going to pitch like he knows what he's doing now."

Actually, Tyler looks like he'd rather be in Timbuktu right now.

"Fuuuuuhhhhck!" Rosalie screams. I look over to see her rip off her Huskies baseball cap, and then she's hopping up and down on it like she's trying to kill it. The dirt is flying everywhere. Jasper's beside her doing the jiggy .

_Wait_. Beside her...

Holy crap, Jasper stole a base!

Then everyone's laughing and cheering, well, everyone but Rosalie, anyway.

Jasper and Edward do a complicated hand shake thing that ends with a pop and lock arm move, and we're having fun again.

Later that night while we're watching TV in the basement, and before Mom calls lights out, I ask Edward about it. Kind of.

"So, um..." I squirm at my end of the couch and scratch my nose, which is peeling. "Do you think I've got a shot at the Wildcats team?"

Edward acts like he doesn't hear me, but then his mouth curves into that lopsided grin of his. "They let any girl who wants on that team."

I gape at him. "What? No. What?"

He stretches and yawns, sinking further down the couch until his head is against the armrest. Like we're sitting on a teeter-totter, my body straightens and leans forward so I can watch his face on the way down. What the heck is he saying? I've been practicing ball ever since school let out because he told me I couldn't even swing like a _girl_.

"Relax. They'll be glad to have you."

I'm pissed he's looking at the TV and can't see my glare. "You lied. You said they held try outs, and that not everyone makes the team."

He push es his cold foot against my thigh. "Not everyone does make the team. They turned Paul down flat last year."

Well _duh!_ The Wildcats is a _girl's_ team. "You think you're funny, don't you?"

"Sometimes. You make it easy."

I shove his foot off me and dive for his stomach. He's ticklish and he's going to pay. Only it doesn't work that way because he doesn't let my fingers dig into him more than two seconds before he pushes me to my back and sits on my stomach.

"I can't breathe," I huff.

"Stop squirming," he laughs, but he's got my hands trapped above my head and is tickling me. I couldn't stop squirming if my life depended on it. Through tears of laughter, I see the glee on his face, something I don't often see, and I'm glad, even if it's at my expense.

"Uncle," I gasp. "Aunt! All of our cousins!"

"Say Edward is The Man."

I laugh. And wheeze. And squirm some more.

"Saaaaay it, or I'm not going to stoooooop."

"You … suck!"

"That's not it." And he doubles his efforts until I really can't breathe.

"Ed … ward! Is … The … Man," I say. I'm panting like Emmet's dog after playing catch. Edward's looking down at me with a satisfied smirk on his face, his green eyes bright. He finally looks his age.

"You are the man, you know," I tell him. "You owned Tyler today. But why did you get so mad? He's like that all the time."

He backs up and climbs off of me, then resettles at his end of the couch. "He could have really hurt you, Bella. And then I'd have to hurt him." He shrugs. "I just wanted to play ball."

I snort. "Well, thanks. Between you and Rose, he doesn't stand a chance against me. I don't know why he doesn't like me."

Edward frowned.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Why are you frowning like that?"

"Because I've noticed. I think you should stay away from him."

"I do. It's not like we're BFFs. Besides, he's scared of you now."

He shoots me a crooked grin, my favorite one. "Damn straight."

"Damn straight."

And we high five each other.

**. . .**

Alice wants to play Marco Polo. "This is my pool, so that's what we're gonna play," she tells us.

They have a beautiful kidney-shaped, in-ground pool that starts at three feet and goes to seven. We're not allowed in the deep end unless an adult is watching us, something we learned the hard way at the beginning of the summer when Emmett dared to test the boundaries. We haven't been allowed in the pool all summer, until today, July 1. We haven't died not being able to swim in the pool, obviously, but we had a few close calls. The heat makes grumps out of us all, especially Rosalie and Edward. And Edward doesn't need the help in that department.

"Aw, c'mon," Emmett gripes. "It's my pool, too, and I say we play dodge."

They're both wearing blue and white stripped swimsuits, looking like the twins they are, compliments of their mom. Rose and I can't stop laughing about it, something that's pissing Alice off something fierce.

"Maybe dodge ball wouldn't be so bad after all," she says lowly.

Rose gasps. "No way. I'm not getting hit in the head with a volleyball again."

"Yeah, 'cause you're already deranged," I tell her. "Plus, I agree. I don't want to play dodge ball."

"We'll use the beach ball, you babies," Emmett says.

"No dodge ball," Jasper says. He's inspecting his teeth again in the water's reflection. He's nuts about his teeth because he just got braces. "I don't want my teeth knocked out."

"Even if the beach ball could reach you, it wouldn't knock your teeth out," Edward drawls. "But my vote's for tag. Who's in?"

That's just like him, to listen to all of us without saying a word before he takes over. And usually, everyone agrees.

"I'm in!" I say.

Alice stomps her foot. "Not it," she growls, then does a cannonball into the water.

And then everyone yells _not it _until we realize Edward … didn't. On purpose.

He springs for Rose. "Hah!"

"That's not fair," she says. "You didn't even give me a chance to run."

"Then _run,_" he tells her. She takes off into the water and Edward's right behind her. He bops her on the head when she surfaces. I try not to let her see me laugh.

"Arrrrrrrrgh! I hate you, Edward!"

Rose is the slowest one of us, which is why Edward went after her. I think he's mean, but I would have done the same thing. So I guess I'm mean, too, and it must run in the family.

Rose hauls herself out of the pool and takes off after me. "Let me catch you, Bella," she huffs. "I can't be It for the rest of the day."

I giggle and dart out of her reach behind a chaise. I am a gazelle, all legs and speed. I spring across the chaise and round a big potted ficus plant. Pausing for a few precious seconds, I thrust my face between the leaves and stick my tongue out at her. I am un-catchable. I am like The Flash! Too fast to be cau—

The pavement rises up to greet my face and everything goes smack. Instant cold heat rushes to my nose and I'm confused. There is an echoing inside my head, which feels heavy. What the?

"Bella. Bella!" Someone's hands are on me, and I fight to push them off, to curl into a ball. I don't feel right. Leave me alone.

With a groan, I finally allow myself to be turned over because the hands won't go away. Neither will the voice. I can't see anything at first, but the voice turns into many voices and the hands multiply. I'm being attacked!

"Stop! Help! Edward," I yelp.

"I'm here, I'm here."

I feel something dangerously close to my rapidly growing nose—I am Pinocchio and must have told a whopper of a lie—and raise my hands to push myself away. And then I'm blinking up at Edward, who's surrounded by black, silver and white stars. Whoa.

"What?" I ask.

"You fell face-first," he said. Under furrowed eyebrows, his eyes are dark and his mouth is set firmly. He looks like he's in pain. _He's _in pain? No, _I'm _in pain. It starts at my forehead, sinks to my nose, and tickles my upper lip and chin.

I groan.

"—always getting into some kind of trouble, Emmett," Mrs. McCarty is saying. "I turn my back for one minute, and chaos ensues. It's enough to give me gray hair, Alice, and I'm only 34. Bella, honey, are you alright?"

Mrs. McCarty's dark eyes are all warm sympathy. She's losing the scarf over her head, so I raise my arm to settle it back where it belongs.

"Uh, ow," I croak. "Sorry."

Her mouth curls into a wide smile, as wide as Emmett's. Her nose is all Alice, all pert with teardrop nostrils. They both have her eyes, though, that playful, warm darkness, as dark as a watermelon seed. "You're so pretty," I sigh.

"She's fine," Edward says.

"No," Rose corrects him. "She's _deranged."_

I look like I have a nose job for the next month. Which is what I say whenever I'm asked, unless anyone who was present at the time is around to correct me. It sucks. Can't a girl have a secret?

The Wildcats pretend they are thrilled to have me. I still can't hit a ball one time out of three, but if the game was four pitches to a player, well then, I might hit the ball past first base. As it is, I am a pretty good bunter and since I can run, I usually make it to first base without being out. I'm not our best player, but I'm not the worst either, which is all that matters to me.

Still, it's clear I won't make it as MVP any time soon. So I go with my second go-to dream of what I want to be when I grow up: a Disney On Ice performer. I'm sure Dad won't mind paying for lessons.

**. . .**

**Bella**  
>Loves until it hurts like crazy. Her schizoid imagination and tomboyish, adventuresome drive keeps her above water, despite physical and painful life setbacks. Quiet and dark like the night, she's capable of unexpected displays, much like a shooting star-she's just waiting for the right moment to be brave.<p>

**Edward**  
>So fiercely protective of those he loves that it gets in the way of his life. His devilishly disarming physical looks set him up for other's impossible expectations, which is why he keeps his heart tightly under wraps. He's a fencing champ, almost good at street dancing, and excellent at predicting other's moves. Because he excels at lying, it threatens to destroy what he loves most.<p>

**Alice **  
>Likes doing make-overs, even though people believe she's in need of one the most. Her irreverent joie de vivre hides a terrifying talent to see her loved one's futures-something she has yet to come to terms with.<p>

**Rosalie **  
>Won't carry her student ID because she thinks everyone should already know who she is. She's discovered that beauty is a curse, but she's determined to make it work for her and finally capture the man of her dreams (if only she knew who that was).<p>

**Emmett**  
>Always in a good mood because he goes commando. He lives for the day, for root beer and pizza, and for making Rosalie smile. A natural born leader in search of the right incentive.<p>

**Jasper **  
>Believes caring about one's teeth shows self-esteem. Because he picks up so strongly on the emotions of others, he uses a hand puppet to communicate to keep people at a distance. Too bad the one he most fears (Alice) is immune.<p>

**Mike**  
>The evil do-gooder who has a thing for Bella. He allows her and others to believe that he's just a golden retriever, but he's really more like Cujo.<p>

**. . .**

**Thoughts?**


	2. Walmart

I knock once and barge into Edward's bedroom. Well, not exactly, since he was expecting me and I know better because otherwise he'd kill me. He's lying lengthwise across the bottom of his bed, so I throw myself on top of his pillows with a dramatic sigh.

"I share a name with a French historical short person and have a red afro," I say. "Who am I?"

He groans.

. . .

Every September we go to Walmart to get our new clothes for the school year. I didn't mind when I was ten, but now that I'm almost thirteen, I'm worried about what the butt of my jeans is going to say about me. Levis are okay, but True Religion or Abercrombie might get me accepted at Jessica's lunch table.

Edward and I follow my mother's Joe's Jeans skinny butt into Walmart's on Saturday morning. She says I'm still too young for a sexy pair of jeans like Joe's, yet she doesn't even blink at a mini skirt. Still, who'd be interested in looking at a little stick of a girl like me? The only curve that sticks out on my body is my nose.

"It's going to rain," Mom says with a grin. Her auburn hair is tied up in a ponytail that swings against her back as she walks. She looks so young. I wish I looked like her, but I have Dad's hair. His almost-black, stick-straight hair. "That's just perfect for a day of shopping."

Edward huffs. "A _day, _Mom? It'll take me 20 minutes, tops." His jeans are almost as tight as Mom's because he's grown so much this year. When Jasper saw them, he called Edward 'Slutward' and now I can't get the name out of my head.

"I was thinking we could do lunch, too," she continues as if he hasn't spoken. She does that if she doesn't like what you have to say sometimes.

"Mom, I have fencing class at one," Slutward says.

She pauses just inside the glass doors, her eyes wide and her mouth pinched. She looks distressed. "_Damn_ it."

"Welcome to Walmart," the greeter says hesitantly. He doesn't have any hair. I wonder what a bald head feels like.

We stand there inside the entrance of Walmart while Mom visibly debates the pros and cons of whatever's in her head. George Clooney? Kids who outgrow their clothes too quickly? Maybe lunch? My eyes bounce from her frowny face, to Edward's, and then to the greeter's. When he sees me looking, he smiles and rocks back on his feet. _Just another crazy family at Walmart, _his eyes seem to say.

_Welcome to my world, _I hope my eyes communicate to him.

"Maybe Edward can eat breakfast while I start looking," I venture. "I can be done by one."

He glares at me.

"By noon, I mean."

Her face completely morphs. "That's a great idea, Bella. Edward, you go eat and take your time."

His eyes turn dark with displeasure and he shoves a hand into his hair. Uh-oh. "I already ate at home, Mom. I don't need to eat again."

She pulls him to the side as more people enter the store. Her hands raise to cup his peach-whiskered face. I hide my snicker behind my hands as he stares at her like all hell's breaking loose.

"Now, Edward, if I promise to get you to your fencing class by one o'clock, can't you just slow down and enjoy your time here at … at … Walmart." By this point, I figure she realizes how ridiculous she sounds. "I have some things to shop for here, too."

"Can we split up?" He asks and takes a step away from her to make her drop her hands.

She whips around to look at me. I stiffen and drop my own hands, but it's too late. Edward saw me. Behind Mom, he raises a closed fist at me. Meanwhile, Mom is giving me the evil eye.

"Edward, you can go. I'll get Bella started. We'll meet back at the Pizza Hut, alright? Keep your phone on."

He sprints away. I'm sure he'll have his four pairs of jeans, four shirts, _and_ socks picked out by the time I decide on my first pair of pants. Perfect.

"Shouldn't have done that, Mom," I say. _"You _should have gone with him to slow him down. You know, help him _choose?"_

"Rats," she says. "Well, maybe you can help him later."

We giggle.

I'm in the changing room, having just pulled on my second pair of jeans when I hear Mom's voice.

"Bell, I just got a call from Phil at work. I've got to go in and straighten something out. Will you be okay for an hour or so?"

I poke my head out of door. "An hour? Sure! I can take care of myself, you know."

She hugs me and gives me two twenty-dollar bills. "For lunch. My sweet, grown-up girl. I'll be back in a bit!"

After she's gone, I do a little dance in front of the mirror until I'm caught by another girl coming in.

Two hours later, Edward and I are still sitting at the Pizza Hut place in Walmart. My jeans, and his jeans, are slung over the table's unoccupied seats. More than one employee has given us the stink eye since we've been sitting here. I no longer feel grown up and free. I'm no longer hungry, either.

Edward is almost steaming out the nostrils.

"When did she say she'd be back?" He asks for the oompteenth time.

I have to keep my patience, or he'll lose his. "She asked me if I'd be alright for an hour or two. And it's been … two now. I'm sure she'll be here any time."

"She isn't answering her phone," he says. "It's almost twelve-thirty and it takes at least twenty minutes to get to the other side of town."

Whoa, he sounds like an adult.

"Why isn't she answering her phone?" he asks me lowly with an almost-glare.

I do a double-take. "You're asking _me?_ I don't have my eight ball today … oh, hey, I wonder if they sell any of those here?"

"Bella." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Are you really this naïve?"

Now I'm almost angry. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He gives me a look like I should know what he means. But I don't. Nope, not at all.

"Mom. She got a call from work—"

"When she never has before on a Saturday," he interrupts me.

"—and she had to go in to straighten—"

"And when Dad isn't around to question her."

"—something out. What? Why … you think _Dad _would have asked her about this?"

He rolls his eyes at me. "Definitely. Haven't you heard them fighting at night? And don't say no, because your room is right next to mine."

Yes. Yes, I had heard them fighting. I was just choosing to believe that they were going to work things out. After all, everyone fought. But at the look in his eyes, I am suddenly uneasy in addition to feeling impatient. Where _is_ Mom?

"Try her again," I tell him and smile at the woman with a Walmart manager's name tag who passes us for the third time. "She's probably in traffic and can't answer, though."

At one, the female manager finally approaches us. "Are you kids alright? You've been sitting here for quite some time."

Edward smiles up at her and I notice her face softens almost immediately. It's funny sometimes watching the effect he can have on people. "We're fine. We're just waiting for our mother, who's running a little late. I promise we won't be here much longer."

Mom doesn't show up until one-forty. She rushes up to us at the Pizza Hut patio, all out of breath and on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she says over and over.

Edward is stoic and barely looks at her. I, however, can't stop looking at her. She looks different somehow, like she's been taken apart and put back together. Even through the worried cries and tears in her eyes, she seems almost … happy. Which doesn't make sense, but nothing makes sense at this moment.

I trade a glance with Edward. I feel as numb as he looks, until Mom grabs me up in a hug and begs me to forgive her. I do, of course, because she's my mom. She loves me. And everything can go back to normal now.

"I know it's not right of me to ask this of you," she says when we're in the car. "But if you could … refrain from speaking of this to Dad, I would appreciate it. You know he'd never let me hear the end of it."

"You're right. It's not fair," Edward mutters, and it's clear that he's not on board with her plan.

"Oh, baby, please. I know you missed your class, but I'll make it up to you. I promise. I _promise."_

But I'm pretty sure he's not going to swallow that, not after she just broke the one.

"Bella? Please? This will never happen again."

Edward turns around in the passenger seat to level me with his glare, and I'm torn between what he wants and what Mom wants. I close my eyes and shake my head, hoping that will be enough for both of them.

"Bella," Edward says.

For the first time ever, I see Mom give Edward a look of something more than just anger and a spark of fear races up my back. What's happened to her? How can _she _be mad at _him?_

Edward isn't letting me go with his eyes. And suddenly I decide. I can't let him down, not when Mom is the one who already did.

"I won't come right out and tell him," I say. "But if he asks, I'm not going to lie. Mom, you always said we should never lie."

Mom's hands tighten on the steering wheel. "I know, honey, and I'm not asking you to. What you've agreed to is more than I can ask. Thank you, Bella."

It's the first time I remember feeling sick deep inside. Not for myself, but for Edward, who she used to praise for always wanting to do the right thing. And now when she's in the wrong, she's trying to shame him? How can she do this? I don't understand. We're the kids, we're ones who are supposed to be creating trouble and trying to lie about it, not her.

. . .

"You okay?" I ask Edward later that night when we're watching TV after dinner.

"Fine," he says.

"Edward. I'm sorry."

He's short with me because he doesn't want to talk about this. "Don't be."

"She was wrong," I tell him. "More wrong than a cigar-smoking catfish. More wrong than Mr. Potato Head eating potato chips. More—"

He puts his hand over my mouth, but at least he's smiling now.

"I goat your back," I tell him when he releases me. "Baaaaaah."

And now he's laughing. Just a little, but I'll take it.

**. . .**

It's still dark when I open my eyes. I look at the clock on my bedside table and see it's 12:25. But for some reason, I am awake. And then I hear it – a muffled voice. It brings me bolt upright in bed. My heart is pounding in my chest. Somehow, I know it's Edward. I climb out from under the covers and press my ear against my closed bedroom door. It's silent, though, almost as if he heard me get out of bed.

I'm out the door and opening his when I hear his voice again. He's dreaming, but it's not the good kind.

"—do this. How could … do this," he mumbles. There are tears on his cheeks.

"Edward," I whisper and touch his arm. He flinches and wakes instantly. I see him blinking up at me in the dark and sink to the side of his bed. "It's okay, it's okay."

He takes my hand and holds it tightly. "It's not okay. I don't think she loves us anymore. You, me, Dad."

I don't know what to say to that, so I just hold his hand until his tears dry.

**. . .**

"Since when do you two drink coffee?" Dad wants to know on Monday morning. He's five minutes from walking out the door, and can't get over us sitting at the table with him at o' dark thirty.

Really, only Edward is drinking coffee. I'm keeping him company (and hiding my winces at the bitter taste from them both because I want to seem as old as Edward).

"I'm growing up," Edward tells him. "And I wanted to have a cup of Joe with my dad."

Dad lowers his coffee cup and squints at Edward, who's still dressed in his pajamas. "Don't you know coffee stunts your growth, kid? You've still got a lot more growing up to do."

"I'm almost as tall as you, Dad," Edward boasts.

"No, you're not." And he tousles Edward's hair rough enough that Edward spills some of his drink. I giggle when my head tousle comes and push my cup at Dad.

"Take it! I don't like it. I'd rather have hot chocolate."

"Least I have one normal kid," Dad says with a grin. "Why don't you two go back to bed? You don't have to be up at this hour for another week. Better enjoy it while it lasts."

"We will, after you leave."

"Well I'm off then." He pops up out of his seat. "I'll see you two tonight. Be good … or else."

We watch him go and listen in silence to the sound of his car driving away. "Let's watch a movie and fall asleep," Edward says. So that's what we do, secure in the knowledge that at least one of our parents is still the same.

**. . .**

**Answer to Bella's **_**Who Am I**_** question for Edward: Napoleon Dynamite. Hilarious movie, a must-see if you haven't already.**

**Edward turned 15 in June and Bella will be 13 in a few days. I've skipped ahead a couple of years with this chapter.**

**Again, I'd be interested in your thoughts, good or bad. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Mental Earthquakes

Middle school is a lot like elementary, except the building is bigger and there are more people. There's something called Homeroom and mine includes 'upper classmen' who eye me like I stink. Which I don't, because I showered this morning, so I guess it has to do with me being new. But nothing makes me more painfully aware of my newbie status than when I rush into the restroom.

There's a boy standing at the wall in front of a teardrop-shaped, low curved sink. His arms are in front of him … he's holding …

I must make a sound, because his face turns to me. Gasping, I fall back against the wall.

"Ohmigod!"

I'm panting like a race horse and now I'm _really _going to pee if I don't find a toilet soon. To make matters worse, there's another boy trying to come in as I'm trying to get out. It's Mike Newton and his stiffly gelled hair.

"Bella! Babe! This is the guy's restroom," he says like I haven't already figured that out. "Or were you looking for me?"

He's blocking my way. "Let me out, Mike."

"This is too good," he laughs and wraps a hand around my wrist. "I need to get a photo of this, hold on."

"Not on your life," I growl. "Let me go."

But he's raising his iPhone, his darn iPhone, and I'm still in the doorway and inside the boy's restroom, unable to escape his grip.

"Newton, cut it out," I hear a boy say behind me. Probably the one I caught doing the deed. I'm panicking at this point, imagining a school newspaper with photos of me trapped in a boy's bathroom.

"Oh, Principal Greene, I was just leaving," I say to open space behind Mike's head.

Mike whips around, finally releasing me, and I race across the way to the girl's bathroom. I don't breathe a sigh of relief until my pants are around my ankles. Resting my elbows on my knees, I stare morosely down at the tops of my blue tennis shoes. Darn, darn, darn it! I'm such an idiot. When I raise my head, I see my washed out reflection in the polished steel of the bathroom stall. I make a face, but can't really see any detail, which is just as well. I'm sure I'm still red as a tomato.

"Bella?"

It's Rose's voice. Outside the door.

"Uh, yeah?" I ask.

"Why is Mike outside saying that you tried to go to the bathroom in the boy's restroom?"

My sigh of frustration is covered by the flush of the toilet. "Because he's an a-hole," I say and bang the stall door open. It crashes against another door and Rose jumps like she's been singed. She's dressed in short leg jean overalls and has braids today, with the perfect scowl to go with her outfit. I'm sure my scowl doesn't go half so well with the sundress I'm wearing.

"You look like you need some Pepto," she says.

"Shut up."

"You didn't know that was the boy's restroom?"

"Obviously. Can we please forget it now?"

"Dunno if that's possible."

I stick my pinky out at her. "C'mon. Pinky swear to me that you will forget this happened."

"No way." She puts both of her hands behind her back. "Mike's already telling everybody he sees."

"Fuck!"

It's the first time I've ever said the F-word out loud.

**. . .**

My favorite class is art. The room's desks are grouped in fours, which are pushed together to form a big square. It's weird, but it's kind of cool. I'm sitting next to a girl pink crop top and blue jean mini skirt on. She arches her eyebrow at me. Across from me is Jasper, who crosses his eyes when he sees me looking, and a mammoth of a boy whose name I don't know.

Our teacher, dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt underneath a blue button down shirt and dark eyeglasses, tells us that he is Mr. Meyer. He looks young. He looks fun. He . . . wants us to draw him our names.

"Get creative," he says. "An A, for example, can be in the shape of a mountain, or maybe an A is a closed fist with the thumb out—sign language. Or maybe your A is tiger-striped, or filled with a fire's flames, or looks like calligraphy."

As he talks, he slowly walks around the room with a drawing in his hands. When he's close enough for me to see what's in his hands, I gasp. It's his name: Mr. Meyer. But he's drawn Disney cartoon characters into the shape of the letters. Mickey Mouse stands tall with his arms drawn up into wings as the shape of the M. Pluto the dog, in the shape of a curved dive, forms the r. It looks like he's trying to dive over the next letter M, which are Dumbo's ears. Nemo forms the e, and Olaf, looking as if he's trying to catch Pluto, holds his sticks out just so for the letter Y.

I'm enthralled. I've never seen such a thing before. "It's beautiful," I breathe.

A couple of people laugh. Mr. Meyer grins down at me and just like that, I'm in love.

"I'm looking for whatever you can imagine for me on the page, whatever shape or story you can tell me, as long as it's clear that it's your name. Any questions?"

"Will we be graded on this?" the girl at my side asks. Her voice sounds weird. All high and breathless.

"Absolutely," Mr. Meyer says. "Have fun. That's the key. What are you interested in? What are your hobbies? Start there. I'll be around to visit with each of you to see if you need any help."

I'm frowning down at the blank paper on my desk when the girl leans over to me. She's got pink eye shadow on all the way up to her eyebrows, and ugh—way too much perfume. "You're Edward Cullen's sister, aren't you?"

I give her a cool look. "Who wants to know?" Then I ruin it by sneezing.

"_I _do."

And then she raises her eyebrow at me again.

"Yeah, that's Edward's sister," Jasper says. "I'm Jasper, his second best friend. We do pretty much everything together. Who are you, pretty girl?"

I don't know why he thinks his charm will work on this girl. Sure, Jasper's cute, but he's still short and skinny and this girl doesn't seem like the type who'd go for him. When she turns back to me without addressing him, I feel bad for my brother's 'second best friend.'

"I'm Tanya. Your brother is smoking hot. Does he have a girl friend?"

I gape at her.

"Does he date at all? Because I'd love to go out with him."

"He's only fifteen," I say. He can't even drive yet.

"Can I have your phone number? Oh, I know, maybe we can have a sleep over this weekend!"

From the corner of my eye, I see Jasper's hand raise. He's wearing the brown sock puppet he calls Sprock. "You don't even know her name," Sprock-as-Jasper says to Tanya. "Besides, Edward won't be home this weekend. He's going camping with Jasper and Emmett."

Beside Jasper, Mammoth Boy does a double-take.

"What are you, 5?" Tanya snorts. "And besides, I know her name. It's Isabella."

"Bella," I say.

"If you knew who she was, then why did you ask her?" Jasper's out for blood. "Dummy."

"Shut up, freak."

She physically turns her whole body to me. "So. How about next weekend?"

"Uh," I rack my brains to come up with an excuse. "I'm only allowed to have two people over at a time. And that's Rose and Alice, my best friends." I shrug.

Her pink-lidded glare is fierce.

And that's how I make my first frenemy.

**. . .**

Emmett is being unbearably smug. "How are you liking middle school, young 'uns?"

We're at lunch, all six of us, the only period we have together since he, Alice and Edward are a grade above me, Rose and Jasper.

"Bella walked into the boy's restroom outside of History class," Rose announces. I give her a look before I cover my face in shame. She wasn't supposed to _say _anything. I knew I should have made her pinky promise.

I peek at them all through the fingers over my eyes. "It wasn't marked," I say in my defense. "And I had to go really bad."

With a grin, Alice leans across her tray of spaghetti and meatballs. "How far did you get before you realized it was a boy's bathroom?"

"Too far," I say. My face heats up as I remember the boy who was standing with his pants open at the urinal.

"Who was it?" Edward wants to know. He's not laughing like everyone else. In fact, he looks kind of mad.

At that, Emmett bursts out laughing.

"Why does _that _matter?" Jasper asks. He looks almost as uncomfortable as Edward does. Then he raises his socked hand to give me Sprock's input. "Talk about sixth grade initiation horror. I hope you're not scarred for life."

"I'll survive," I say.

"Put that thing away," Rose hisses. "People are looking."

"Let them," Jasper as Sprock says. "I'm second-hand embarrassed for Bella."

Rose scoffs. "Be embarrassed for yourself."

Yikes, time to change the subject.

"Three girls asked me if I was your sister," I say to Edward. "I didn't know you had a fan club."

A soft pink tinge colors his cheekbones. "Shut up, Bella."

Emmett laughs. "This girl Tanya has tried to kiss him I don't know how many times. Last year, she cornered him in Wood Shop and laid one on him beside the soldering machine. He _hates _her."

Now I'm laughing with him as Edward throws his straw wrapper at Emmett's head.

"She's got cooties," Edward says. It's such an unexpected thing for him to say that I choke on a meatball.

But his face is even redder now. What does _that_ mean? He's avoiding everyone's eyes by keeping his face down, concentrating on his food. And . . . I have the sudden epiphany that he doesn't hate her at all. _Ewwwww_.

"She's gross, Edward," I tell the table. "And mean, too."

"She wants to spend the night with Bella," Jasper says. "But not this weekend, because you won't be there."

Edward blanches. "What?"

"She's in our art class. You lucky dog. She's mean, yeah, but man. I'd hit that."

"Jasper Hale!" I gasp. I thought he hated her, too.

And then the boys are talking about girls they'd like to 'hit' and I want to gag. I feel sick. Obviously I don't know them like I thought I did.

**. . .**

Edward catches me as I'm coming out of the bathroom in just a towel. It's a big towel, but I'm still wet and I'm freezing cold, and he won't budge.

"I get wet when drying," he breaths. "I get dirty when wiping. What am I?"

"A pain in my butt!"

**. . .**

One night in mid-October, dinner is especially tense. Mom and Dad aren't talking to each other, and I hate—absolutely despise—smoked sausage. It's greasy and salty and I can chew it 'til Kingdom Come. Plus, it's burnt, so it also tastes like tar. Or what I imagine tar would taste like.

Something bumps my foot under the table. It's Edward. His eyebrows are raised at me, but I don't know what's going on any more than he does, so I kick him back. Then he kicks me again. And I kick him again, only he's moved out of the way and my foot swings into empty space and my stomach bumps the table.

"What's going on?" Dad asks.

"Earthquake," I say. He gives me a dark look. "Earthquake in my stomach. I don't feel very good. Can I be excused?"

"Rinse off your plate and put your dishes in the dishwasher," Mom says crisply. Her hair is unkempt and there are shadows under her eyes. She knows I'm lying, plus she knows I hate smoked sausage. _And _she's in a bad mood.

Feeling like I've escaped prison, I dart into the kitchen with a sigh of relief.

"You chicken," Edward says to me later. "You just left me there. Thanks."

"Sorry. I really _didn't _feel very good."

He sighs and settles beside me on the couch. We're in our favorite room in the house: the basement. My nose is cold, but nothing could send me back upstairs right now.

"There's something going on," Edward says and pulls at the blanket.

"Hey! I'm cold."

"Come here." He stretches out on the couch and pats the space in front of him. With a huff, I fall beside him and he covers us both up. "So like I was saying, there's something going on with Mom and Dad. They didn't say two words to each other. They didn't even look at each other."

I shrug. "It's just a fight. They'll get over it like they always do."

He snakes an arm around me and I'm finally growing warm. "It's getting worse, Bella. I can _feel _it. Can't you? Or are you still pretending?"

I shake my head, suddenly unable to talk. There's a lump in my throat.

"I'm afraid," he whispers.

Me, too. I put my arm over his where it rests against my stomach. And I grip him hard.

"They've got to be okay," I choke out.

They just _have _to be.

I remember how Jasper was when his parents got divorced. He was only seven, same as me. He used to be really quiet. For months, he hardly said a word. Then came Sprock, a hand puppet made out of one of his dad's dress socks. To this day, Jasper is never without that sock. If our parents got divorced, would I need a sock puppet of my own to deal with it? Would Edward?

I smile at the thought of Edward with a sock on his hand, even though I'm nearly in tears.

"We've got to help them," I say. "Maybe we can plan dinner tomorrow night, just for them, and you and I can eat down here."

Edward is quiet.

"Or maybe we can insist that they go out to dinner, and we can eat here. I can cook, you know."

Now he's snickering.

"Shut up! It wasn't my fault the sausage got burnt."

His chuckles die down. "It's a good idea, but I don't . . . I don't think it's going to work."

"Well why the heck not? They have to eat and if we're not with them, they'll _have_ to talk to each other."

Excited and filled with purpose, I sit up and turn to face him. "It's worth a try, Edward. Right? Right?"

"Maybe," he agrees, but it's grudgingly. He knows something. Something I don't.

"No?"

"Maybe," he repeats. "What would we make?"

"Spaghetti, I say. "I'm good at making spaghetti."

"All you have to do is the boil the noodles and open the jar of sauce," he snorts.

"_And_ toast the garlic bread, _and _chop the salad," I tell Mr. Know It All.

His eyes are lighter somehow as he looks at me. I push at him and then spread my arms in a question.

"Alright. We'll do it."

"Alright then."

"But not right now."

"Duh."

And he pulls me back down and we watch American Horror Story until bedtime.

**. . . **

**The answer to Edward's question for Bella: a bath towel. All 12 of you can groan now.**

**Thanks for reading. Wish I had a few more comments. I'm still uneasy as heck posting this story, and it'd be nice to have a little bit more concrete interest when things starting getting tough for these kids.**


	4. 911

"If you have me, you want to share me. But if you share me, you no longer have me. What am I?"

"That doesn't even make sense," I tell Edward.

**. . .**

It's my last Halloween as a trick-or-treater, and I'm going out in style. I am Catching Fire's Johanna Masen, District 7: Lumber. Trees. I already have her hair, the red-tipped long style she wore for the opening ceremonies. I'm wearing brown pants and a dark green body suit with a wide green belt. Mom flatly refuses to let me wear a bustier, but she makes up for it with my make-up. When she's done, I already know I'm going to hate the fake eyelashes that make me feel like I'm wearing shutters on my eyelids. But my eyes look amazing! I don't even recognize myself under my dark, heavy eyebrows. Even the boys are impressed.

"Wow," Jasper drawls. He's dressed as a Civil War soldier and looks pretty cute.

Behind his Flash eye mask, Emmett's all eyes.

Edward, a.k.a. Captain America, is less flattering. "Where's your pick axe?"

"Are you going to take your clothes off for us?" Emmett grins.

"No, she's not taking off her clothes," Mom says. "You boys get going to the party and let me finish up here." Mike Newton is having a Halloween party, which Rose and I will attend after we make sure the whole neighborhood sees our costumes. Specifically, Seth Clearwater, who we both have a crush on.

"We're waiting for Alice," Jasper tells her.

Speak of the devil. The doorbell ding-dongs, and then Alice bursts in, skirts twirling. She's wearing a gold, glittery turban and a beautiful cascade of black, gold and purple. I'm immediately jealous.

"What are you?" Emmett asks.

She bows her head. "Swami McCarty at your service."

"What?"

"I tell fortunes," she says in a tone of voice that communicates he's being an idiot.

They leave in a crush of noise, telling me to hurry up or I'm going to miss the best games at Mike's party.

"Lot of weirdoes out tonight," Mom tells me as she bands one of my wrists with a thick, silver studded bracelet. "Don't _eat anything _you get, not until you've given me and your dad a chance to look at it."

"I know, Mom. I'll save my sweet tooth for Mike's party."

She hooks the second bracelet on. "Atta girl."

Rose meets me at her front door wearing a peach gauze baby doll dress. She's beautiful, just perfect as Glimmer from The Hunger Games. Somehow, she found a pair of peach arm warmers to go with the dress. On her feet are low heeled silver booties that glitter.

"It's perfect," I breathe, jealous again. My eyes should be green instead of brown. Oh, wait. They _are_ tonight.

She touches the red part of my hair, which is crunchy from the spray-on color. "So is yours. Now you just need the swagger."

It's in the mid-40's, so we both leave our coats at the end of the driveway where Seth lives.

"Ready to dazzle?"

"Let's dazzle," I say. We hook arms and stride up to the porch with a single pumpkin on it. The porch light isn't on, but Seth's old maroon Nova is parked out on the street. He's not fooling us. We know he's here.

Rose and I pound on his door and yell his name until he finally opens it. His wavy dark hair is wet and he's wearing a black shiny robe that shows his chest's muscle definition. My mouth drops open.

"Shouldn't you kids be at a party or something?" he growls.

"We had to come see you first," Rose says and twirls. "What do you think?"

"I think you're going to catch a cold in that thing, princess. And you," he turns to me. "Not bad, but what are you supposed to be?"

Seth is in his mid-20's and hand washes his car almost every Saturday, which is how we met him. He goes out a lot, "looking for the perfect girl". The boys think he's cool. Us girls think he's yummy.

"I'm Johanna Masen? From The Hunger Games?"

He looks puzzled. "Oh, yeah. Yeah. Cute costume, Bella. Your lips are blue."

Not exactly what I was looking for in a compliment, but it's better than what Rose got.

"Gotta date, gotta go. You girls be safe."

"Well, dammit," Rose says to his door.

**. . .**

Alice thinks she's psychic. "You are going to make Honor Roll at school this semester," she tells my hand. "There are some challenges to be faced this year, but I can tell by the grooves on your palm that you will overcome these hurdles." She raises her head and gives me an intense look. "But it's going to be difficult."

"Why?"

"I don't know why. Don't question the swami. Have a cup of tea. Maybe I'll see more if I can study your tea bag."

"Don't you mean tea _leaves?_"

"I told you not to question the swami."

I have to go to the bathroom, so I get up and let someone else take a turn.

Mike's basement, which is decorated by black lights and a strobe light, is packed with people who glow in the dark. And, we all look like we move like robots, which was Mike's intent because he _is _a robot. It was cool at first, but now it—and the loud music—is giving me a headache.

As I pass one of the snack tables, I grab a chip and plunge it into creamy dip. _Onion._ I'm hungry, I haven't eaten since lunch. Maybe if I eat my headache will go away.

There's no one waiting to use the bathroom, but the door is closed. After a couple of minutes, I tap on the door, but there's no answer.

"Hello? Anybody in there?"

"Just a sec!" a girl's muffled voice says. And then I hear laughter.

I'm about to knock again when the door opens. Captain America and a nurse emerge. I'm struck dumb. It's Edward and Tanya.

He pauses and then gives me a big smile.

"C'mon, Edward," Tanya says and sticks her tongue out at me.

_Gross. _

**. . .**

That night when we get home from Mike's party, which was lame by the way, Mom is face down on the couch. On the coffee table, her phone is ringing, but she's not even moving to get it.

"Mom?"

I want to rip these eyelashes off _yesterday. _I don't understand how girls can wear these. They're awful. And why isn't Mom answering her phone?

Edward stays at the foot of the stairs as I rush to the coffee table to see if it's Dad calling from the night shift.

"Mom? We're home," I say and pick the phone up. It's an unidentified number, though, so it's not Dad.

She still hasn't moved, so I shake her arm. That's when I become aware of the sour smell … like vomit. Grabbing her shoulders, I manage to turn her enough to see that the couch cushion under her face is covered in a yellowish, white-ish vomit. "Mom!"

I back up so fast that I fall onto the coffee table. And then Edward is there, bending over her to see what's wrong. I hear her moan.

"Call 9-1-1," he tells me in an urgent tone. I feel the blood drain from my head and sway, but I do as he says. Never in a million years would I have dreamed that I'd be making such a call.

I'm glad it's a woman who answers. "9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

"It's my mom, she's passed out on our couch. And she's vomited."

"Is she conscious?"

"No," I wail. "Please help."

"What is your name and address?"

I give her the information and ask if they're coming. She repeats what I've just told her and asks me if the information is correct. They're coming, remain calm, I need to make sure the front door is unlocked, that our porch light is on, leave Mom on her stomach, and keep her warm. Oh god.

I want to clean up the couch, but Edward won't let me. He says it might be helpful to the paramedics, so I just wipe off Mom's face, which is an ashen color that is terrifying to see. Her head is heavy. She's like dead weight. Her hair, which was so shiny tonight, is now slimy and crusted. As tears clog my throat, I think that she's never seemed less like my mom than at this moment. Distantly, I hear the sound of sirens and suddenly need to hear my dad's voice.

My hand is shaking so badly, I can barely push the button.

"Dad, you have to come home," I sob. "Something's happened to Mom. We had to call 9-1-1."

Dad arrives just as the paramedics do … in a police car with sirens wailing. Being a cop has its advantages, although I realize fully for the first time that it can't keep horrible stuff from happening.

Mom still hasn't regained full consciousness when they take her away in the ambulance.

**. . .**

"She, uh, overdosed, kids," Dad tells us while rubbing the back of his neck. "You know she's been on this pain medication for her back, and, well … she just took one too many tonight."

"How can you take one too many?"

"She did it on purpose," Edward says angrily. When I look at him, he's _furious._ His face is almost as white as Mom's was, and there are deep grooves between his eyebrows. By contrast, Dad is cucumber calm. And me, I feel like I'm sinking under water.

"Yes, Edward, I think she did it on purpose," Dad says heavily. "But we're going to get her some help, okay?"

I can't seem to unclench my hands. "What's happening to her?"

"She'll get some medicine at the hospital—"

"Yeah, because more medicine is just what she needs," Edward bites.

"And then they'll have someone come and talk to her. She'll probably go away for a few weeks…" Dad swallows loudly and turns his face away from us. Is he … is he _crying?_

I stumble up and over to him, then throw my arms around him tight, tight. "It's okay, Daddy," I whisper. "It's not your fault."

He hugs me back and sniffs. "Thanks, Bella. C'mere, Edward."

And then Edward is next to me and we're group hugging each other and trying not to cry. But the harder I try not to, the more I seem to, until I'm full out sobbing.

**. . .**

They won't let us see Mom. Dad says it's because she's ashamed and feels like she let us down, that she wants to heal first before she tells us how sorry she is.

Edward is still mad. "Whatever."

"It wouldn't do any of us any good if we saw each other right now," Dad says. It's the day after all hell broke loose, and he looks like it. "She's not strong enough to see our pain or our anger, even if we have every right to feel that way."

"So she gets to ignore us."

"No. She gets to face the music first. She's in pain, too, Edward."

"When is she coming home?" I ask.

Dad sighs. "I'm not sure. But meanwhile, I need you two to step up around here. Help with cooking, cleaning, do the laundry. I need your help, okay?"

We agree. Anything to help him out. He looks so sad.

"Is this what you guys fight about?" Edward asks suddenly. "Her pain pills?"

"One thing at a time, Edward. Let's just take it one day at a time, now, and focus on today."

"That's not fair."

"Well, life isn't fair. Better get used to it. Have you done your homework?"

**. . .**

"He doesn't want to tell us what's wrong," Edward says to me later. "Because I know it's more than just Mom scarfing down too many damn pills."

I look up from my math book. "What do you think it is?"

"I think she wants to divorce him."

I gasp and tears instantly fill my eyes. "No, she doesn't. She can't do that to him, Edward."

He ignores me. "I won't go with her," he says through clenched teeth. "I'm staying with Dad."

"They're _not _getting divorced, Edward!"

"You should go with Mom."

He's all blurry. I can't see him anymore. Suddenly, I hate him. I _hate _him for making me feel this way. I'm not sure how I got there, but I'm standing above him and pounding at him with my fists. He pushes me away and stands, but I come right back at him.

"You're wrong!" I scream. "It's not going to happen, so _shut up!" _Smack!_ "Shut up!" _Double smack!_ "Shut up!"_

He lets me scream and hit him until he's had enough, then he catches me up in his arms and we're crying together. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "Maybe I'm wrong."

The thing is, I'm all too afraid that he isn't.

**. . .**

**The answer to Edward's riddle for Bella: a secret.**

**What a downer of a chapter this was. I've got to get the next one up quick!**

**Who's with me? **


	5. Coping

Life isn't the same. I feel like I've been robbed somehow, and I don't laugh as much anymore. It used to be that I'd seek out Edward, who is a loner, but nowadays I'm finding that I prefer to be alone, too. Like now, as I swing on our rope swing in the back yard. It's cold and my nose and cheeks are numb from the breeze that swinging creates, but it's still bright and sunny out. So I'm going to swing until my nose falls off or until it's time to go inside and fix dinner, whichever comes first.

It's been two long weeks since we found Mom face-down on the couch, and she still hasn't asked to see me or Edward. Dad told us she probably wouldn't, but it's a bitter pill to swallow. As soon as I have that thought, I wince. Maybe I'm going crazy.

Dad changed his shift hours down at the police station back to the daytime so he can be home when we're home. Edward and I have been watching TV at night in the living room with Dad, partly because we don't want himto be alone, and partly because _we_ don't want to be alone. Well, except for those moments when we do, that is. If Dad's home, I want to be where he is. If he's not, then I'm either in my room or the kitchen.

Being around Edward makes me uncomfortable. His eyes are too sad, too dark, too knowing, and I can't take it. I need to believe that Mom will be okay, and that's she's coming back to us to stay.

**. . .**

Art class is my escape. Sometimes I get in a groove working on my project and I forget where I am. Those are the best moments, but they don't happen often enough. We're working on collages and mine is of my mom's face. I sketched her as I remembered her: laughing, head thrown back. And now I'm gluing itty-bitty pieces of construction paper to the drawing. It's slow and tedious work, but it calms me.

Jasper's collage is one of the scenes from the movie Saving Private Ryan, one of the bloody ones. It's grossly graphic, but it's really good. Like, good enough to win an award. I've noticed that Mr. Meyer visits our table more than any other just to see how Jasper's coming along.

Mammoth Boy, who's actually Embry Call and is the shyest person I've ever met, is doing an airplane, one of the commercial jets. He draws them obsessively. Whenever we're between projects, he's sketching out some kind of airplane.

Tanya is doing the bunny from Alice in Wonderland, only he looks like a pink-nosed donkey. It makes me grin.

Today is classical music Monday in Mr. Meyer's class. I recognize the tune, but couldn't name it if someone held me at gun point. We all groaned at first, but I have to admit that it's soothing and just perfect to work to.

"Is Edward going to the Awesome 80's dance?" Tanya asks out of the blue.

Edward wouldn't be caught dead at a dance. "I don't know. Why don't you ask _him_?"

"Because I want him to ask _me,_" she huffs. She's bitterly disappointed because Edward's gone back to ignoring her after their bathroom kiss. Which I wouldn't know anything about if it wasn't for Tanya going on and on about it, since I'm kind of avoiding Edward.

"He's the best one I've ever kissed," she sighed. "Can you tell him for me?"

I shrug at her. She's going to have to figure out how to get him to the dance on her own, and good luck with that.

She's staring at the side of my face. "He's not … gay … is he?"

Now I'm mad. "Just because he doesn't like you like that doesn't mean he's gay. He's not. And don't you dare start that rumor about him, or I will eff. You. Up."

"SorRY. Geeze. I was just asking."

I wish she'd change seats. Or disappear in a puff of smoke. Or get abducted by aliens.

"I'm going to the dance," Jasper tells her.

Tanya rolls her purple shadowed eyes. "Good for you, freak."

What a gross, sick-hog-pig-sow-cow she is. No wonder Edward won't kiss her again.

I finish pasting on another row of Mom's hair. It's taking forever. Only half of her head is done, but what I've done looks really cool. The orange, yellow and brown make it look like her hair glistens.

"Who is that?" Tanya wants to know.

"Nonna yer."

**. . .**

In Human Development class, we're watching a film on the effects of cigarette smoking. The images of smoke being inhaled down the throat and into the lungs keeps playing, and each time we see that happen, the lungs change in color. And my stomach gets tighter. Until finally, the lungs are hard and black, as hard as my stomach feels now. Oh no. Unable to hold it in any longer, I wretch.

Beside me, Rose straightens and touches my arm. "You okay?" she whispers.

No, no I am not okay. I can't get the smoke and black tarred lung images out of my brain. Before I can ask Mr. Molena for a hall pass, I'm up and running for the door. My throat is tight and full of saliva and if I barf before I get to the restroom, I will die.

I make it, but just barely. Everything I had for lunch pours out in Technicolor and then I'm crying. _Again._ I am so sick of all the crying I do now. I'm like the poster child for two-year-olds. Make a face at me funny, and I bawl. Stub my toe, and I bawl. Barf, and I bawl.

"You sound like you're dying," Rose says outside the stall door.

I growl-groan-spit. "That's because I _am,_"I sob.

Now she sounds worried. "Are you _really_?"

"No," I wail. "Yes. No. I don't know."

"Do you want me to get the nurse?"

That sobers me up quick. "No, I'll live," I sigh.

"Guess you're never going to be a smoker, huh?"

My laughter sounds wet. Yuck.

"I want to go home," I say after I rinse my mouth out and splash my face. I want to hide my head under my pillow and never come out, unless it's for art class. "But I can't. Dad's at work."

"Go tell the nurse that you need to lay down for a while."

My face is red and my eyes are puffy. And also red. My lips are chapped and my mouth tastes bad. It feels like someone drove a fist into my stomach. All I need is a hunch back and a limp.

"Will you bring my stuff? I can't go back to class."

"Sure."

As we step outside the restroom, Rose grabs my hand. "I'm sorry, Bella."

I shrink away. "There's nothing to be sorry for. I'm better now."

"That's not what I—"

"I have to go." And I take off in a jog. Which is a very bad idea because of my stomach, and I slow down as soon as I turn around the corner.

There's nothing to be sorry for. I just got sick is all. Everybody gets sick now and then.

**. . .**

It's contest night at Edward's fencing club, and Dad wants us to go watch him. Edward isn't happy about this, but Dad's insistent.

"I want to see what my money is paying for," he says.

Edward rolls his eyes. "You're going to be bored out of your mind."

"No, we won't."

Yes, we will. I saw Edward learning how to fence a year ago, and fell asleep sitting up. It's just a couple of people coming together and then separating. _Boring_. But Dad wants to go, so we're going. After he gets a load of what it's all about, I'm guessing it will be the one and only time we go.

The club is actually a renovated shoe warehouse downtown. It looks and smells like a gymnasium. The sound of shoes screeching on the floor fills my ears until I poke my iPod's ear buds into them. There are faceless boys and girls dressed in white, shuffling back and forth to Taylor Swift's Shake It Off, which is what I do while I sit there. I shake it off, shake it off, woo-hoo-hoooo, shake it—

"Would you stop," Dad says and hands me back my left ear bud.

I leave one bud in and turn Taylor down, then look for Edward. If only they didn't wear those weird looking face-mask head things, I could spot him right away. His penny-colored hair is impossible to miss. He got Grandma Higginbotham's hair. It's gorgeous and he's so lucky and there he is. He just raised his mask thingy to wave at us, so we know it's him. While he might have been rolling his eyes earlier, it's clear now that's he's glad we're here. I sit up straight and wave back at him. I'll pay attention for as long as I'm able to . . .

And then I notice that he's wearing a diaper-looking thing over his crotch area. It's big and hangs a little. Before I know it, I'm giggling and collapsing against Dad.

"What's gotten in to you, little girl?"

Then I guess the contest starts because Edward and his opponent both crouch and raise their skinny-looking sword sticks. They both hold their position and then Edward does a leap frog move at the other guy, who leap frogs back. Then they leap frog forward and back again and again until something happens and they break apart. I don't understand, but I guess the leap frog move looks kind of cool.

Forever later, Edward pushes the mask up to the top of his head. "Did you see that?" He's all smiles. "I won! He got the first touch, but I got every one after that."

"We saw," Dad assures him. We trade a quick look. Yep, we're both clueless, but happy for Edward. Deep inside, I thaw a little at seeing that smile of his. It's been a while. And I want to hug him. So I do.

Afterwards, we go out for ice cream, even though it's in the 30's.

It's a good night.

**. . .**

"So you _were _avoiding me," Edward says as I race down the basement stairs the next night.

"Yep. Sorry." I shrug and throw myself down the couch. I'm in sweats and slippers so I don't have to share the blanket.

He keeps looking at me, even though I'm staring at the TV, which he's paused on Andrew Garfield's face. Spiderman II, yes! I've been wanting to see this one.

"You're okay now?"

"I'm fine," I say. "Play the movie."

"Where's Dad?"

"Watching TV upstairs. Football." I shudder.

"Oh, so you wouldn't be down here if he was watching something you wanted to see?" His tone of voice is kind of crabby. He's angry at me_._ "You know, Bella, I'm not going to lie about what I'm feeling just because you don't agree with me."

"I didn't ask you to," I huff.

"No, but you ignored me for two weeks. I might as well be gone with Mom."

I study Andrew's frozen expression on the TV and breathe. "I said I was sorry."

"Yeah? Well maybe that's not good enough."

He's giving me the look he reserves for his worst enemies. Seeing it sends my stomach right into my throat. I don't know what to say now, and even if I did, I couldn't talk anyway.

"You and Dad both think that Mom's going to be just fine. That everything's going to go back to the way it was. I'm the only one feeling this way, and I hate it. I want her to come back as much as you guys do, I want things to go back the way they were five years ago when she and Dad used to dance in the living room and take us on picnics every weekend." He takes a jagged breath and pushes his hand against his forehead. "I want – so much. I just … I'm scared, too."

I scoot next to him and wrap my arms around his bicep. He's stiff, resisting, obviously still boiling over with the uglies.

"I don't get why you would avoid me because of that. We're supposed to stick together, stick up for each other, just like always. Especially now. Don't you get it?"

"I'm trying," I say and lay my head against his shoulder. Gradually, his breathing calms and he relaxes.

"I don't like it when you ignore me," he says. "You wouldn't like it if _I _ignored _you _right now."

"I know. I wouldn't."

"So stop."

"Okay."

I run my fingers through his hair and he lets his head fall against my shoulder with a sigh. We're okay. We're okay.

I nudge him gently. "The more you take of me, the more you end up leaving behind. What am I?"

"You make that one sound kind of sad," Edward says.

Eventually we fall asleep on the couch together and Dad lets us stay there all night.

**. . .**

Mom comes home a week later. She looks better than she ever has before. Her skin and eyes glow, and her hair is shiny and loose over her shoulders. But she has trouble meeting our gaze and her voice isn't as commanding as it used to be. It's like … she's not the parent anymore. Dad is the parent. And Edward and I are strangers.

"I missed you," I say to her when I find her alone in her and Dad's bedroom. She's just sitting there on the bed, looking lost and lonely.

Her smile is sad and then she's crying. I've got my arms around her. I forgive you, I tell her. I'm not mad. I missed her and I'm so glad she's home. I love her.

It hurts that she doesn't say it back.

**. . .**

**The answer to Bella's riddle for Edward: Footsteps**.

**Thoughts?**


	6. Interim

**I get the sense a lot of you are withholding judgment until I sink or swim at pulling off this unlikely romance. Don't believe I can do it? Do you think I'm not as nervous as you are? I can promise you that I'm more so.**

**So let's get to it. This was a tough chapter to write.**

**. . . **

It's the night before Christmas Eve and I'm lying underneath the lit tree feeling like I'm looking up a girl's skirt. It makes me snicker. I've always loved looking up through the branches, seeing the twinkle lights and the decorations poking through. I can only do it at night when it's quiet, though, otherwise I don't feel the magic. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I feel the warmth and color of the tree lights against my eyelids. I hear sleigh bells. I feel Santa's smile. And I feel loved.

Which is the feeling I'm after now, but it's not the same. It's not coming like it usually does once I close my eyes. I try deep, slow breaths and sing Silent Night in my head. I imagine a star in the sky brighter than any other, and a winged angel hovering over where I'm lying. I think of George Bailey in It's A Wonderful Life and how he was reborn when he learned of the kind of impact he had on other's lives.

My stomach growls. I officially suck at capturing the Christmas Spirit this year. Like everything else, it makes me want to cry. I haven't believed in Santa Claus for years, but the idea-slash-magic of him has never deserted me before. And if this is what growing up feels like, I don't want any part of it.

I made Mom a memory book for Christmas—an album of photos that I arranged just so, with little captions to go with each picture. It included her and Dad's wedding photo, various little kid photos of Edward and me in embarrassing poses, the night we all stuck our tongues out together at one of Mom's cooking experiments, the year we went to the Grand Canyon, me in my Wildcats uniform and Edward in his fencing gear. Mr. Meyer was beside himself when I brought the idea up, and happily let me work on that project instead of the assigned paper mache fish of The Great Barrier Reef. Thank God.

She's been back for almost two months, but the only thing I want for Christmas this year is to have my mom _truly _back.

"Hey." Edward's sitting beside me with his legs crossed. His hair is light enough that the tree lights shade it every color of the rainbow, and he looks quite … magical.

"What are you doing up?"

"Had to go to the bathroom. I noticed the tree lights were on and thought maybe Dad had forgot to turn them off. What are you doing up?"

I look back up into the tree. "Searching for Santa's elves. They're shy, though. I haven't found one yet."

"What?" I can hear the smile in his voice.

"I found one in my jacket pocket today," I continue. "A little guy wearing a striped, long stocking cap and he had red hair like yours. He sat in the palm of my hand and told me he was looking for his brothers and sisters, and that they were hiding in our tree. So … I'm looking for them."

Edward stretches out beside me and then we're shoulder-to-shoulder. It feels nice. "Maybe they only peek out when you turn your head away," he says, playing along.

"That red-headed elf was a tricky one. He made me close my eyes and make a wish and when I opened them, he was gone."

"What did you wish for?"

"Can't tell you that," I sigh. "But I think he was lying because I haven't found one single elf."

Edward sits up and before I know what he's doing, he's grabbed one of the ornaments off the tree and is pressing it into my hand. As he lies back down with one of the biggest smiles I've ever seen on his face, I raise my hand and see that it's a little wooden elf. It's the only elf ornament we have and he found it just like that?

I turn on my side to face him and my smile is as big as his. Now … now, it feels like Christmas. And I can tell by the look in his eyes that he feels the same way.

**. . . **

Rose and I have a sleep-over at Alice's place the day after Christmas. We're all wearing the footy pajamas that the McCarty's got us. Rose's is red with white polar bears, Alice's is a pink leopard print, and mine is dark blue with light blue snowflakes. Mrs. McCarty knows us well. Definitely better than my mom seems to know me lately.

Alice has the neatest bedroom—the walls are painted a light gold and there are two huge, ornate gold-framed mirrors that face each other from opposite walls. They are draped with heavy purple velvet and made to look like windows with the curtains open. Her bed is a four poster hung with more of the thick purple velvet and lavender sheers. It makes me think of the inside of a jewelry box. Plus, she's got one of those curved TVs, a new Christmas gift.

It's extravagant, but I guess that's what you get when your dad is a bank VP and your mom is a Financial Director of a clothing chain. Mine and Edward's gifts were more along the lines of iTunes gift cards and sweaters. Which I don't mind, but it's not the reason for my bad mood this year.

Mom didn't react like I thought she would at my gift. Her face as she looked at the album in her hands was almost one of surprise. She cried a little, she said she loved it, but she put it down and never picked it up again. Edward held me as I cried about it later that night and told me if she couldn't see just yet that I'd put my heart and soul into that album, that she would soon. I just had to give her time.

But we both wondered how much time was going to be enough.

"How was the soap making class with your mom?" Alice asks as she pops a chocolate Santa head into her mouth.

"Fine," I say. All three bathrooms at home have dishes of the soap we made in the last two weeks. Dad winces every time he has to use it, but they won't last as long as a regular bar of soap. I caught Edward throwing away a couple of bars of it yesterday and gave him hell.

So I gave some of the soap to Alice and Rose. A pink, lavender scented bar for Alice, and a pink, rose scented bar for Rose. They love them.

"Oh!" Rose gasps. "How'd your mom like the scrapbook?"

"I bet she loved it," Alice says. "It's so cool. I want to make one for my mom. She'll just _die!_"

I try to gather my thoughts. "Um, well, she didn't die, but she liked it," I say.

In the long pauses that follow, I'm afraid to look up at them. I don't want them to see how hurt I feel. It's bad enough they hear it.

"Bitch," Alice breathes.

"Alice!" Rose says.

"I don't want to talk about it," I tell them. "It'll just make me upset, okay? Let's just watch a movie or something, okay?"

They both squeeze the stuffing out of me, and then we watch A Christmas Story and race to be the first to shout the movie's lines to each other. _Fra-geee-lay._

**. . .**

Mom comes home one day in the spring with her hair all chopped off. I'm horrified. It's shorter than Edward's.

"Don't you like it?" she asks me with a tremulous smile.

"I-I-I like it," I say weakly. "But not as much as the way you had it. Oh, God, Mom. Why?"

"I needed a change, that's all. It will grow back, don't worry, Bella. And meanwhile, I have this totally new look and won't have to spend so much time in the bathroom. Your Dad should be thrilled."

I didn't think Dad was going to be thrilled.

In April, Mom began going to Yoga, after she was encouraged to do so by her psychiatrist. Already thin to begin with, she lost weight rapidly and Dad accused her of not eating enough.

May saw her give up Yoga in favor of making jewelry, and soon I had a bracelet for every top I chose to wear. That lasted until the end of the month, when she decided she wanted to try Edward's sport, fencing. She wasn't very good at that—Edward said she didn't have the patience or focus to keep the steps straight. When June rolled around, she was into origami. There wasn't a scrap of paper in the house that wasn't folded into a 3-D shape. She even folded the ends of the toilet paper.

All the while, she kept Edward at a distance. He let her, though. It's like he expected it. I wouldn't allow it, though. I forced my time onto her, made myself into the carefree and loving daughter who didn't ask questions – the daughter I thought she wanted me to be.

In June, Mom and Dad had a fight in the kitchen right in front of Edward and me. Usually they fought behind doors, but this time there were no holds barred.

"You're seeing _him_ again," Dad growled.

"I _work _with him, Charlie! Of course I _see _him."

"Don't be dense. I won't be the fool again. This time, you either tell him goodbye, or-or—"

"Or what? _What, _Charlie?"

"I'll leave you. I'll take the kids and I'll leave you."

And there it was. The roof of our little house was caving in and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it.

Only Dad isn't the one who asks for the divorce. Not a month later, Mom has papers served to him at the police station. By the time we get home, she's gone. Just … gone.

I tear the note she left me into little pieces, then keep them in a baggie beside my bed.

**. . .**

"I want you to go to your Mom's for the summer," Dad says.

No way. I'm not leaving him. Or Edward, Rose, Alice, Jasper or Emmett. "But—"

"Bella, I'm worried about her. She needs some kind of calming, steady influence. And that's you, honey. Please. Just think about it."

"But she lives in Florida," I gasp. The divorce isn't even _final _yet and Mom's living in Florida with some guy she used work with named Phil. I'd rather eat a can of lima beans without anything to drink, or have to get a tooth filled at the dentist, or most anything really, than to have to see Mom with another man who isn't Dad.

He nods. "I think you'd like Orlando."

But he doesn't get it. I don't want to be anywhere without my family. And right now, he and Edward and Rose and Alice are more my family than my Mom is.

Edward, of course, agrees. He's the one that said I should go with Mom in the first place. "It's just for the summer," he says. "That's not so bad."

"What about the Wildcats?" I sob.

He grins and pulls me into a hug. "Ohhhhh, how will they ever manage without you?"

Mom doesn't press me about it, doesn't ask me to come to Florida, but I can tell she wants me to come. It's in the things she doesn't say, in the heavy silences between words. I don't know why she wants me to come, I don't think she needs me like Dad thinks she does, but in the end, I cave. I do what everyone wants and forget what I want.

As a going-away gift, I finally get my own phone. It's a small consolation.

At the airport, I can't seem to let go of Edward.

"You see me where I never was and where I cannot be," I sob. "And yet that's where you always see my face. What am I?"

"I promise I'll call and text often," he says. He hides it well, but I hear the tears in his voice.

**. . .**

Orlando is sticky, hot and clean as the Pope's toothpick. I've never seen such tidy looking streets, or such neatly trimmed trees and grass. It's almost Stepford-like.

Mom is almost bursting at the seams, she's so excited I'm here. "We'll have to go to Walt Disney World and Universal Studios, and Phil has a sailboat so we can go sailing. Did you know that we live right on a lake? It's called Johns Lake."

It seems odd for her to have this level of excitement when I consider how down she was on the phone just hours ago. Dad told us that she's been diagnosed as a manic depressive, which means she can be very energetic and happy one minute, and totally in the dumps the next.

And it's hereditary. Every mood swing I have makes me afraid that I'm one step away from being hospitalized.

I text Edward on my new iPhone. _I'm here. It's so hot, my sweat has sweat._

Then I text Rose and Alice. _Mom's boyfriend lives on a lake and has a sailboat._

Edward's answer makes me smile. _You must really smell then. Make sure you give Phil a big hug._

Phil isn't what I expect at all. He's taller than Dad, blond and about ten years younger than Mom. I hate him on the spot.

"So I hear you're on a Wildcat softball team," he says.

"Phil plays in a summer baseball league," Mom says all proud, like Phil is a pet or something.

I shake my head. "Not anymore. I'm interested in ice skating." Which is a total lie, but he doesn't have to know that.

"Since when?" Mom asks.

"Since August," I say. She wasn't around then. She doesn't know anything.

"Oh, well maybe we can play catch anyway," Phil says. "Maybe hit some balls at the park?"

I shrug. I feel like a brat, but I'm not going to make this easy for him.

They show me to my room like I'm a guest in a hotel. It's a nice enough room with a high ceilings, a walk-in bathroom and huge windows that look out on the water.

I feel gross because my sweat soaked into my clothes, which are now damp against my skin. "I'm going to take a shower," I say.

"Um, okay," Mom says. "Whatever you want, honey. We'll be downstairs. Maybe later we can all go down to the restaurant at the dock?"

"I'm not really hungry."

The tight knot in my throat would never let me swallow.

**. . .**

**Answer to Bella's question for Edward: a reflection.**

**I think I've got one more chapter in me before I return to work, and then chapters won't be coming quite so quickly. Probably more like 1 or 2 a week. **

**Thanks for reading.**


	7. Johns Lake

"Am I going to be happy here?"

_8 Ball says: Outlook so-so._

"Is Mom going to change her mind about the divorce?"

_8 Ball says: Don't count on it._

"What's wrong with me?"

_8 Ball says: Ask again later._

**. . .**

My new thing lately is burning candles. I have a blueberry and a maple spice candle going now. It smells like blueberry pancakes. I love candles.

I am running out of candles.

Dad would have never allowed me to burn one candle, let alone two, in my bedroom, but Mom wants to win me over so badly that she's pretty much allowing me to do whatever I want. Of course, what I really want is for her to call Dad and say she's made a horrible mistake. And then she and I would fly back home, leaving Phil in the dust. Which there's not a lot of here in this big, gaudy house because people come every week to clean it _and_ the indoor pool. I think it's crazy to have a pool when your house sits right next to the lake, but what do I know? There's a lawn service for the front and back yards, someone to polish all of the windows, and someone to cook if no one else feels like it. I don't even have to do my own laundry, but I do. No one is touching my panties or bras.

Phil is a trust fund baby. He doesn't even have to work. Part of me wonders if that's why Mom is with him, and if he suddenly lost his money, would she go back to Dad?

I lose myself for a few minutes as I imagine someone robbing the bank that has all of Phil's money in it.

Mom and Phil are determined to entertain me. They don't understand that I want to be invisible, that I don't want attention, that I want to be left alone. There's always somewhere to go or something to do, but I wish that things would just settle into something comfortingly dull.

They do take me to Universal Studios, which is really cool and I could totally go again, and to Disney World, which I was less impressed with, but that's probably because I ate too much and got sick before we'd ever left the park. Sailing is definitely cool and Phil almost manages to break into my good graces because of it.

There is a dock leading out into what Phil calls the Johns Cove where his sailboat and a little rowboat are tethered. I snicker. He lives at Johns Lake on Johns Point Drive and calls his piece of the water Johns Cove. And he's named his boat John's Boat. How _original_. Mom and I climb aboard while Phil releases the boat ties. I sit away from them both at the back of the boat, which I guess might be 20 feet; it's not very big. As he takes us out into the little cove that gradually leads out into the lake, I close my eyes and let the breeze caress my face. It feels like we're hardly moving and I have to open my eyes again just to make sure.

Phil cuts the engine and unfurls the sail once we're clear of the cove, which is mostly deserted, but boats dot the lake everywhere. As we begin to move, he turns around to look at me.

"What do you think, Bella?"

That you're too young for my mom. That you highlight your hair. That you have no imagination. "It's cool," I say.

Beside him, Mom giggles and leans over to kiss his cheek. I roll my eyes and turn to look back the way we came. The lake is wide, calm, and I feel like jumping in the water. But Mom won't let me because she says the water is dirty, and besides, "We have a beautiful pool that you can swim in any ole time you want!"

I would never, though. I remember the McCarty's rule about never swimming alone, and never swimming in the deep end. And since I have no interest in hanging out with Mom and Phil more than I have to, I avoid them when they're swimming. Watching them make goo-goo eyes at each other makes my heart ache. Plus, it makes me want to gag.

Everything just seems so perfect for them. For Mom. It's like Dad and Edward don't even exist for her anymore.

**. . .**

_I don't know who she is now, _I text to Edward. _She's acting like her and I are best friends._

He doesn't respond until almost an hour later, probably off having fun, and by then I'm almost in tears. _That's better than you fighting with her, right? I'm sorry, Bella. Come home._

Bellabean: _It's only been a few weeks, though._

Edward: _Doesn't matter. If you're ready to come back, you're ready. Forget her. I'm sorry I ever thought you should go."_

And then: "_I go all around the world but always remain in the corner. What am I?"_ he types.

There he is. I smile and gurgle out a laugh. _"Fievel the mouse."_

Edward: _Can you talk?_

Squealing, I push the button.

"_Hey, Bella. So things aren't going so well?"_

"That's not it," I sigh. It's so good to hear his voice, familiar and warm and concerned for me. "Things are … too perfect. It's like they're putting on a show for me. They're _too _happy, they laugh too much, they touch and kiss too much. It makes me sick."

"_Are you okay?"_

"I'm fine," I say.

"_And don't say you're fine."_

"Well, I am. That's just it. I'm not really anything. How's Dad?"

"_He's … adjusting. Been working a lot."_

"What about you? What were you doing when you got my message?"

He hesitates when he speaks, but his voice is all smiles. _"Swimming at Emmett's. With Dooby. Mrs. McCarty was pissed, you should have seen her. She tried to haul Dooby out of the pool and fell in. I think Emmett kind of pushed her, though."_

"Bet he's in trouble."

"_Grounded. For life."_

We laugh. "Is that where you are now? At the pool?"

"_No! Emmett's grounded. They made me go home."_

"Sorry." I want to hear him keep talking. "So what are you doing now? What did you do last night? Have you seen Rose and Alice? Tell me everything."

"_One question at a time, you magpie. I'm making myself a sandwich right now. On white bread. Oscar Meyer ham, Sargento swiss cheese-_"

"Not _that _kind of everything," I laugh.

There's a shrug in his voice when he answers. _"I watched a movie last night with Dad. There's really not that much to tell. It … it's not the same without you, Bella. The house is too quiet." _

I swallow the lump in my throat. "I don't know if Mom would pay for a plane ticket home this soon yet."

"_She doesn't have to. Dad will fork over his left kidney if he has to."_

Relief washes through my entire body. It helps to know that I have a way home if I need one. It helps knowing I'm not a case of _out of sight, out of mind._

"I'll stay for a bit longer. It's … nice here. I'm going out on the little boat later. Just me."

"_Just you? Is that safe?"_

"Sure. I have to stay in the inlet, in sight of the house. I've done it before," I say with a note of pride.

"_Wish I was there with you."_

"Wish I was there with _you_."

**. . .**

We're at the Wine and Canvas shop when the glass Mom's been drinking from crashes to the floor and splatters across the feet of the woman next to her. In the middle of painting My Starry Night artwork, I jump and my brush drags a black line across two of my stars.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," Mom cries and drops to her knees in front of the woman, furiously wiping the hem of her apron against the woman's white sneakers. Well, what used to be white anyway.

The woman backs away from Mom with a scowl on her face, bumps into the canvas behind her, and then says a very bad word. The S word. "Look what you made me do," she howls at Mom. "This is a _silk shirt._"

"Well, I'm sorry, but why would you wear a _silk shirt _if you knew you'd be painting?" Mom asks shrilly.

Mom and the lady ignore the Wine and Canvas girl's attempt to calm them. Both of their faces are red, their eyes slitted, and their mouths wide open. It's enough to make me wish I could disappear on the spot.

"How dare you! This is _your _fault."

"I said I was sorry. I'll buy you another pair of shoes, but it's not my fault you're a klutz and backed into your own painting."

Which is kind of true, I'm thinking, but Mom really shouldn't have said that. Before Wine and Canvas Girl can utter another word, the lady swings out her arm and cracks Mom against the face. There's not a sound in the room afterwards, just the echo of skin against skin. I'm just … aghast. And then? Then it's bedlam and they go at it until both of their shirts are destroyed beyond repair. The cops are called. Both Mom and the lady are cited for disturbing the peace and have to attend anger management courses.

Mom is eerily silent on the way home and totally ignores me. When Phil hears about it, he can't stop laughing, and only then does she loosen up. In the living room, she all but attacks him, kissing him like crazy and running her hands all up and down his chest. It's like I'm not even there.

She is a stranger.

**. . .**

It's early on Saturday morning when I decide I'm going to boat out farther than the inlet this time. I've gotten pretty good at rowing and I know the inlet backwards and forwards now. I want to explore.

Waving back at the house, I say my goodbyes and head for open water.

I'm not sure how long I row out in the lake, but by the time I notice that the skin of my arms feels tight (and so do my muscles), I realize that I forgot to put on sunblock. I'm getting a farmer's sunburn. Great.

Sore inside and out, I trudge back up to Phil's concrete and glass mansion. The sun is high in the sky, so it must be at least noon. My stomach agrees. I wonder what Kate, the cook, has made me for lunch. I hope it's more of her egg salad. I wave to old Quil as I pass through the back yard. He's forever weeding the place and I feel sorry for him, old as he is, having to work in the sun like a slave.

No sooner have I stepped inside the door than I am knocked suddenly and forcefully to the floor.

"You, young lady, are grounded forever from the boat."

I hold my hand against my stinging face and look up at mom incredulously. She _hit _me? She's _never _hit me before, not even when I was younger. My shoulder is aching from where I fell against the door frame.

"Get up and go to your room. Now!"

I scramble to my feet and race up the stairs like hell is at my heels. My whole body hurts, but it's nothing compared to the pain inside.

**. . .**

I wake up hours later and it's dark and my face and arms are burning. When I look at myself in the mirror, I see that my face is bright red and my left cheek has a tiny bruise. I feel like a wreck that's been fried. Even worse, I realize that Mom never even came up to check on me.

"_Bella?"_

"Edward," I sob.

He loses the easy tone of his voice. _"What's wrong? What is it?"_

I try to talk and can't. All that comes out is _she _and _boat _and _sunburn._

"_You have a sunburn?"_

"Yes," I wail. "It hurts."

"_It must if you're crying." _Now he sounds a little amused.

"She hit me!" I yell.

"_What? Who, mom?"_

"No, the boogieman. _Yes, _mom. She hit me!"

"_What happened?"_

And so I tell him in between hiccups about my boat adventure, my sunburn, and then mom.

"_Now don't get mad at me," _he begins.

Too late. I'm mad already because he isn't.

"_But I thought you weren't allowed out past the inlet."_

"But I waved. I told her I was going," I insist.

"_Bella. I'm sorry. She shouldn't have hit you."_

"I know!"

"_But-. Are you okay?"_

"No! I feel so alone. I want to come home. Will you ask Dad? Please?"

My bedroom door opens and Mom comes in. Her eyes are red and her hair is mussed like she's been tugging at it with her hands. She sees I'm talking on my phone, then she gets a good look at my face.

"_Yes,"_ Edward says. _"I'll ask him right—"_

"Oh no, Bella. I'm so sorry, honey. I didn't mean to hit you that hard."

She takes my stiff body in her arms and rocks me back and forth so hard that I drop my phone. "Mom!"

But she's crying, wailing actually, like I was moments ago, and she isn't listening to me. She's also not letting me escape her embrace.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she cries and gets my cheek all wet with her tears. The way she is pressing my sore cheek against hers hurts.

"Mom, please," I say, but she just tightens her arms around me.

"Tell me you forgive me. Please tell me you forgive me."

I don't, but I don't think she's going to let me go unless I tell her that I forgive her. So, with bitter gall in my stomach, I do. She releases me immediately and then cradles my face in her hands.

"You missed lunch. Are you hungry?"

"No," I say. "I don't feel well. Can I just stay in my room for the rest of the night?"

"I'll bring you up a tray," she says and kisses my bruise. It hurts.

Then she's gone and I'm looking at my bedroom door, which she left open. I walk over quietly, then close and lock it. I wonder where Phil is.

And then my phone rings. It's Edward's ring tone.

"_What the hell was that?"_

"I don't know," I say.

**. . . **

Edward wants me to ask Phil if Mom is taking medication for her condition. I don't find him alone until two days later at breakfast. When I ask, he says Mom is still in bed and that we should probably let her sleep because she had a bad night.

"Does she … you know … take medicine?" I ask. I wish I wasn't the one who had to do this.

Phil's blue eyes are confused. "Medicine? For like a headache, you mean?"

"No. I mean medicine … for her problem."

He puts his fork down. "Her _problem? _What are you talking about, Bella?"

"Her … er, her … condition. My Dad told me she's a manic depressive. And my brother wanted to know if she's taking medicine for that."

He tilts his head back and laughs long and hard. "Ohhhh," he says once he gets his breath. "That's a good one."

"What do you mean?"

"Your mom isn't a manic depressive, Bella." And he takes a big breath. "I'm sorry, but I think that's just something your Dad may have made up."

"What?" I try to act like he's not rocking my world. "My Dad wouldn't do that. He doesn't _make things up_."

He stands up and carries his plate to the sink, where he deposits it with a clang. Then he comes and rests his hand on my shoulder.

"Bella. Your mom is _not _a manic depressive. She's just … female," he grins.

**. . .**

**Answer to Edward's riddle for Bella: a stamp.**


	8. Sorry

**A special thank you goes out to suziefknQ for being awesome with her time, comments and support for this story. And to kammz30, who makes me do my monkey bark laugh whenever I read her reviews.**

**Shortest chapter yet, but it packs a punch.**

**. . . **

Johns Cove is perfect, especially late at night when the moon is full and no one is around. I was scared at first, because it's dark and I've seen too many movies where a monster waits to grab you under the water, but it's warm and peaceful and perfect and I'm still alive. I sit on the end of Phil's dock with my feet in the water and stare at the moon's reflection in the water like that's it and that's all there is.

"Is anyone here?" I ask the moon's reflection, just in case.

The water ripples gently against my ankles, a gentle caress. If there is a monster, he's giving me a free pass.

**. . . **

When Mom looks at me, she stares at my left cheek, which is just a pink bruise now. "Your Dad called."

"He … did?"

"Yes, first thing this morning, he calls me and says he's coming this Saturday to bring you home."

Panic is beating a tattoo on my heart. I shrug stiffly. "I'm sorry, Mom."

She glowers. And stares some more.

"It's mid-August. I'd be leaving in a couple of weeks anyway."

"You told him."

I drop my gaze to my feet. "I told Edward. We tell each other everything."

"Did you tell him that you don't love me anymore?"

How could she _say _that? "I'll always love you," I gasp. "You're my mom."

She shakes her head. "I told you I was sorry. I wasn't myself that day, I didn't mean it. You know that, right? I was just worried sick about you, that's all, and I lost my temper. Don't you believe me?"

My inhale is shaky. I hope she doesn't notice. "I believe you. But I want to go home."

"_This_ is your home, too."

It's Phil's home. "I'm sorry," I say.

"You're sorry? For what?" Her glare is back.

"Uh…" Am I supposed to tell her that I'm sorry for wanting to go home? Because I'm not. "I'm sorry that I disobeyed your rule about the boat," I say softly.

She sighs loudly, dramatically, and waves her hand as if to dismiss what I said. "Is this about Phil? Are you leaving because I'm with Phil now, and not your Dad? Because that's not fair, Isabella Marie. I'm entitled to live my own life. And Phil's a good man. He takes care of me."

Dad took care of you, too. "It's not about Phil," I say. "I just want to go back home, that's all, I promise." Am I not entitled to live _my _life?

Her face is pinched and pale with anger. "It's going to get better. I won't, I won't lose my temper like that again. It's inexcusable, I know. And I know I hurt and scared you."

And now she's in tears and I'm split in two—part of me wants to run far away, and part of me wants to comfort her. I can't keep up with her. I don't know what she wants from me.

"Give me another chance, Bella!"

"Mom, I don't know what you want me to say," I choke out. "I miss Edward. I miss Dad. I miss my friends. And I want to go home. Please don't punish me for that." It's only when I break down into tears that she comes to me, like me losing control is the only thing she can finally understand. Or wants to understand.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I never wanted it to be this way. Sometimes I don't even recognize myself anymore. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Me, too," I cry. What else is there left to say? How many times can you say _I'm sorry_ until it doesn't mean anything anymore?

**. . .**

When Edward and I were much younger, Mom had us kneel at the sides of our bed with our hands pressed together under our chins, and say a prayer before bed. I say it now just because it comforts me.

_Now I lay me down to sleep,  
>I pray the Lord my soul to keep.<br>If I should die before I wake,  
>I pray the Lord my soul to take.<em>

Not that I think I'm going to die or anything. I just like the idea of having God's ear right now.

"God, please help Mom get better. And I'm sorry about the all the swearing," I add and then I fall into an uneasy sleep. Four more days until Dad comes.

**. . .**

Phil wants to take me out sailing, just me and him. Inside I'm turning cartwheels. Outwardly, I sigh like I don't care, and then shrug like I'm giving in.

"Where's Mom?" I wonder.

"Zumba class."

We laugh.

"I swear, that woman will try anything once," he says.

I agree. I know.

It's windy today and the boat glides like silk on glass. We go really fast, really smoothly. The wind is strong enough that it whips some of my hair from my band, and for a moment I'm blinded. When my hair blows as hard as it does in this wind, it stings.

"So I guess you're going home early," Phil says later.

I stiffen. Not him, too.

"It's whatever it is, you know," he says when I don't answer. "I just don't want you to think you aren't welcome here."

"I don't. I like it here. It's really nice."

He gives me a calculating kind of look, the kind that means he stares at me longer than I'd like. "She's hurt that you're leaving, though, your mom. She feels things deeply. Doesn't always know how to react to things, you know?"

I turn away and scowl at the water. He is _not _standing there telling me about my own mother.

"She cried and cried last night in bed. I've never seen anything like it."

Cat's still got my tongue.

"Kinda worried me. Made me think that maybe you oughta think about staying through the end of August, like what was agreed to in the first place."

"My Dad wants me home," I say. And I want to be home, so there! You're not the boss of me!

"I know. I understand. I guess I was just hoping that you could talk to him, maybe ask if you could stay a bit longer."

I look at him in surprise. Didn't Mom tell him that I was the one who wanted to go home now? Not that it matters. I use my worn-to-death failsafe. "I'm sorry. But I have to do what my Dad says."

He scratches his face. "Yeah. Yeah. That's understandable. I just wish it wasn't causing her so much pain."

When he looks at me, I give him a look of woe and shrug again. I am the sorriest shrugger ever.

**. . .**

Edward's voice is light and playful. "We'll be there Saturday. I'll get to see the lake and the boat that got you in trouble," he cackles.

"The boat didn't get me in trouble, _I _did," I laugh.

"No way, those row boats have minds of their own."

"You're nuts."

"I feel nuts."

"I can't believe Dad is letting you come, too. I'm so glad." I didn't think Dad had that kind of money. Maybe he planned to stuff Edward in the stow-away compartment?

"Yeah. Well, it was either that or leave me at the kennel."

"Shut up."

"Three more days," he says. "Hey. I have a face, but no eyes. I have hands, but no arms. What am I?"

"Oh," I squeal. "I know this one!"

**. . .**

Rose is the only one I level with, because I don't want to worry Edward. Plus, it seems like I'm always complaining to him. He probably needs a break.

"She's avoiding me and Phil is trying to talk me into staying. She's always got something to do or some place to go. I've spent more time with Phil these last few days than I have with her in a week."

"But she's calmed down, though? She's not being super weird?"

"I don't know. I only see her when she's coming or going. She seems fine then, though."

"Well, maybe she's just avoiding you so she won't burst into tears again."

I doubt it. I think it's more like she's pretending I'm already gone. "Maybe."

"Well, I'll see _you_ day after tomorrow. Alice is planning a welcome home pool party."

I whine and laugh and the same time. "Who's coming?"

"The usual peeps. I think Seth, too."

"Really?" I'm excited.

"No, Bella. Not really. Geeze, what's wrong with you, girl?"

"You can't tease me about Seth," I say. "Has he found the perfect girl yet?"

"I don't think so. Well, we can ask him on Sunday when you're back."

"Deal."

**. . .**

I've got ants in my pants. Dad and Edward are supposed to be here any time now. Mom's got ants in her pants, too. I'd like to think that she's excited about seeing Dad again, but I'm afraid to hope where she's concerned anymore. It's better just to think that she's being oddly happy again, and for no good reason.

We're in the kitchen making dinner because Phil and Mom want Charlie and Edward to spend the night—something that's _not _going to happen, according to Edward—but Mom and Phil don't know that. And so Mom and I are making parmesan crusted chicken breasts, broccoli and mashed potatoes. She also wants us to make Grandma Higginbotham's peanut butter crunch cookies. Which doesn't make any sense, or maybe it does, because Charlie doesn't care much for sweets and Edward doesn't like peanut butter.

"They're going to love this," she says as she shoves the baking dish into the oven. "I've made it for Phil before and he just _raved. _Even Kate was impressed."

Kate thought Mom didn't cook well at all. "That woman should be banned from the kitchen for life," she told me once. "She ruined a skillet _and _a sauce pan." And then she'd said something in Russian. It sounded like bet-reh-nay steh-lov-yay.

"I'll be right back. I gotta go get my iPad, it has the recipe," she says.

Phil's coming in just as she's leaving. "Keep Bella company. We're making peanut butter crunch cookies."

His face lights up. "My favorite."

_Ah_, the cynic in me thinks. _So that's why we're making the cookies._

I've peeled and quartered all the potatoes when Phil tells me he's going after Mom. "That woman would forget her head if it wasn't attached," he tells me.

Yep. I know.

I'm covering the potatoes with water when I hear him yell her name in a blood-curdling way. It sends my heart right into overdrive. What's happening _now_?

I set the pan on the oven to boil and wonder if I should stay here, because I don't want to get in the way of their arguing. It's enough just to handle my own. And then Phil yells my name.

"Bellllllla! Bring the kitchen scissors! Now! Hurry! Now!"

Geeze. One _now_ will do, I think as I pull the black-handled pair of scissors from the wooden knife block beside the refrigerator. As I pass through the foyer, the front bell sounds and my heart leaps. It's Dad! He's here!

"Belllllla! Hurry! Please hurry!"

Growling my anger and impatience, I run for the back office-slash-library where Phil's voice is coming from. He's awful demanding. As I round the corner and come into the room, I see him with his arms around something hanging from one of the wooden rafters. What the?

Phil commands my gaze. "Set the chair up," he tells me in a staccato tone. "Climb up and cut the rope. Now. Hurry. Now!"

And then suddenly I see what the thing hanging from the wooden rafter is. It's Mom. Still in her tiny jean shorts and red halter top. One of her shoes is missing and that bare foot is twitching, twitching.

"Now, Bella, before we lose her!" he roars.

I stumble as I race to the overturned chair, and everything loses color, and then I'm pushing the chair up and it's heavy and I'm weak.

"Up on the chair," he tells me. "Hurry, you can do it, hurry."

I climb on the chair, and he's sweating because he's trying to hold Mom up so the rope doesn't cut into her throat—oh, God, it's bleeding, don't look—but he wants me to cut the rope with the scissors. And I have to look, have to look, have to look. Her eyes and mouth are wide open, and her face is gray, and her neck is black and white. No sounds. No movement from her. She doesn't see me. She doesn't see Phil.

And I'm screaming because I'm not tall enough to reach! I'm not tall enough.

Phil shoves me off and leaps on the chair, but it tips over and I see his face contort in anguish as Mom's feet swing in front of us.

And Dad is there, and Edward, too, and it takes all three of them working together to cut her down.

**. . .**

**The answer to Edward's riddle for Bella: a clock  
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**Kate's comment about Renee: Flighty gibbet**

**My comment for you: The review button is just down below. I hope you'll take a moment to share your thoughts with me. I'll write on regardless, but it's a great affirmation and pick-me-up when readers comment. **


	9. Forgiveness

_Dear Mom,_

_You used to say that I was such a joy to you and I wonder what I did to make you stop feeling that way. I know you didn't want me to leave you, but you left me first. Plus, you didn't seem unhappy that day. You said you'd be right back. How could you do that to yourself, when you know I could have found you like that? Because you know what? I DID! _

_I haven't cried over you since the funeral. My therapist, Ms. Evans, said I was probably going through the final stages of grief, and that that was okay. She also said it's okay to be really, really mad at you for what you did. And I am. She had me screaming myself hoarse about it the other day. My throat hurt and I couldn't swallow right for hours, so I won't be doing that again, but it's all your fault anyway._

_Everyone looks at me funny now. People whisper behind my back. They don't know what to say to my face. They don't like to look at me. That's your fault, too._

_I don't want to think about you anymore. Leave me alone. I hate you. I hate what you did to us. I hate it so much, I can barely stand it._

My therapist wanted me to write down any thoughts I might have about Mom every day. When I told Ms. Evans that I couldn't seem to forget the sight of my mom's gray face, her protruding tongue, or the way her head flopped to the side when she was finally cut down, that's when she told me to scream. "Scream it all out," she said. I'm not sure if it helped or not. Those stupid, ugly, horrible images still replay at odd times during my waking moments and always, always in my dreams.

For days, I was just numb. Unbelieving of what I'd seen, what I felt, and how to cope with it all. Mom was fine one day, then dead the next. It just didn't seem possible. No one I knew had a mom or a dad who had died. Parents were supposed to be like teachers—always there for you in their precise role. _Always. There._

I'd never see my Mom again. Never, ever, ever. And if I did, part of me would have been overjoyed and part of me would have wanted to hit and hit and hit her again.

What did people do when they lost a mom? Worse, what did people do when everyone knew that they lost their mom because she committed suicide? What do I say, what do I do, how should I feel?

I didn't know, but the first thing I did when things calmed down was to destroy all the bracelets she made, all the origami hearts and flowers, and the collage I'd spent so many hours making. She'd wanted to be gone. Now _I_ wanted her gone. It was scary for me, because I'd somehow lost myself in the destroying part. I remembered gathering the bracelets, hunting down the origami shapes that were in every nook and cranny in my room, and pulling out the 8-by-10 artwork. And that's it. Next thing I knew, Edward and Dad were there and I was shaking, and my hands were torn and bleeding.

I felt like I was falling slowly into the worst of everything. I didn't know if I'd ever smile again.

I slammed my head against one of the kitchen cabinet doors one day and saw stars. It made me forget everything but the painful moment I was in, and it was … different. That was the first time I think I discovered how one pain could help to lessen another.

**. . .**

I'm at the kitchen table doing shots of chocolate milk when Edward comes in.

"You dang chocoholic," he says and scoots the milk jug away from me.

"Give that _back_," I growl.

But he pours one chocolate milk shot for himself, and then another one for me. When he holds up the glass in a toast to me, I just look at him.

"This is the part where you raise your glass and touch mine," he says.

"What is there to cheer about?" I grouse, but raise mine anyway.

"Well, I won another fencing bout last night, and now I'm ranked number two in class."

I clink my glass against his and toss it down the hatch. Another shot and I'll puke, so I pour another shot.

Edward moves it away from me. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, except you've got my glass. Give it."

He levels his gaze at me and moves my glass even farther away. "Bella."

"Edward."

"Belllllla."

Edddddwarrrrrrrrd."

"You look green."

"You look ugly." Which is a lie. Edward never looks ugly, he got all the beauty genes. And he knows it, too. He's been spending more time in front of the mirror lately.

"How much longer are you going to mope?"

"How much longer are you planning to hold my glass hostage?"

"She's not worth this, you know."

I stand up and try to grab the glass. "Shut up!"

When I don't give up trying to grab my milk, he flicks his wrist and splashes me in the face with it. It's a cold shock and I can't see at first, but then I am filled with rage. I scream and dive at him, trying to hit at any part of his body that I can. He easily dodges my flying fists, but he lets me come at him again and again until I'm out of breath and crying.

"What is going on in here?" Dad's angry voice.

"Bella's trying to learn how to fence," Edward says. "She sucks."

"I hate you!"

His face freezes and then falls. It's the first time I've ever said it out loud. I don't mean it, and remorse immediately fills me from the inside out.

Edward sets the empty glass down. "I'm done," he says and walks out of the room.

"Don't tell me you're a sore loser," Dad says and his lips twitch as he fights a smile, and it's clear that he thinks me and Edward really were trying to fence.

I shake my head and run after Edward.

"I don't want to talk to you now," he says, not letting me into his room. "Maybe later."

And so I go out to swing. _I hate you _plays over and over in my mind. I keep seeing Edward's hurt expression, and it feels like my heart is breaking. Right then and there I make up my mind that I'm never even going to _think _those words again.

**. . .**

It's almost ten at night when Edward finally answers my text messages.

"Basement. Five minutes."

Excited dread fills my stomach, but I'm eager to get this pain off of my chest, so I run down to the basement.

"Bedtime in one hour," Dads calls after me.

It's more than five minutes later when Edward finally comes down the stairs. He's still wearing his jeans and his hands are stuffed in the pockets. He's even hunching his shoulders.

I race to him and throw my arms around him. He doesn't move his hands from where they are in his pockets, but I don't care. I have to make this up to him.

"I didn't mean it," I tell him. "I'll never say it again, I promise."

He's quiet, and then, "You sound like Mom did."

I gasp and fall away. He's looking at me with hurt, dark eyes. It's not okay yet.

"She never meant what she said, either."

"I'm not like her," I say fiercely.

"You're moody and pouting like she used to."

"It's only been a few months, Edward. I still … miss her."

He shakes his head and takes a step back from me. "It's more than that. It's like she took the best part of you with her."

I take _two_ steps back from him. "She did not."

"You're not the same," he says.

"How can _you_ be?" I demand. "Our Mom is gone. Don't you miss her?"

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I miss who she used to be. Not who she was before she killed herself."

I flinch.

"She did and said lots of things that she had to say she was sorry for. _You _told me that."

I nod and fold my arms across my chest.

"Well, you saying that you hate me makes me think of her."

"I don't—"

"I know you don't hate me. But you said it and it hurt. I can't forget it."

Tears fill my eyes. I can't forget it either. And I don't know what to say to make it better.

We just look at each other for a minute or two. My body is stiff all over and it looks like his is, too.

"I hope you get better," he says and then turns to leave and we're still like strangers.

And it's all my fault.

**. . .**

Jasper and I have Mr. Meyer again for art, but we're in different classes, which sucks because I liked seeing what he was doing. I'm sitting with Embry again, who turned out to be really cool. He still draws airplanes. Tanya, thank God, isn't at my table this year. Instead, I'm sitting next to Angela Webber and across from Ben Cheney. It's a great group, which is a relief since we're sketching facial portraits of each other.

I'm working on Embry first. He has a long face, a long nose, and a long chin. It's taking a long time to draw, I think and snicker. He's got an awful lot of eye lashes for a boy, and has eyebrows as thin as a girl's. His mouth is flat and small. It rarely smiles. Right now, his mouth is kind of pressed together as he concentrates on _me._

I wonder what I look like to him.

"Don't forget about the cross-hatch technique I showed you," Mr. Meyer says to me. "That'd be great to use for the shadow on his neck."

We're listening to Led Zeppelin today—their greatest hits, Mr. Meyer told us. He wants us to appreciate all kinds of different classics. So while they're singing about a stairway to Heaven, I'm trying to get Embry's chin to look right. He's got a butt chin, but it doesn't look normal on paper. But thank God he's not smiling or showing his teeth. My teeth always seem to look like I'm trying to prove the theory of evolution.

"Do you want to stay over tomorrow night?" Angela asks me. She's small and dark-haired like I am, but wears these cool, purple cat's-eye shaped glasses on her nose. She was also one of the first people at school to say she was sorry about Mom. And she didn't even hardly _know _me then.

Tomorrow is Friday, so it's likely I'll get permission to stay at Angela's house. "Can Rose come, too?" I ask.

"Sure. Well … I'm almost sure. I'll have to ask, but Mom will probably say yes."

The thing is, Rose doesn't want to go.

"She's too uptight for me," she says.

"Pleeeease?"

"No. You go. I'll go to movies with Alice."

I'm a bit disappointed, but I understand. I'm not as outgoing as I once was, so I don't mind a low key evening with Angela.

"Alright. But if you're seeing Annie, you have to see it again with me," I tell her.

"Only if it doesn't suck," she answers.

**. . .**

Dad has to take me to Angela's because she lives too far away for me to bike it.

"So what's going on with you and your brother?"

I shrug and inwardly groan. "Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing."

"Well, what's it look like?"

He gives me a look. "Smart-alek. You don't think I notice that you two are giving each other the silent treatment? That you're not hanging out together down in the basement like you used to?"

Sighing, I give in. "He's mad at me. I hurt his feelings when I said that I hated him. Remember? You thought I was being a spoil sport."

"You were."

"But I shouldn't have said that."

"You shouldn't have said that," he agrees.

He's quiet, thinking about it, and then, "I don't like seeing my kids at odds with each other. Especially you two, because you've always been close."

I didn't like it either, but until Edward was willing to forgive me, what could I do?

"He won't talk to me," I say in a small voice.

Dad gives me another look, but this one is gentle. Encouraging. "Then you make him listen. It's been a week now. Time to make up, huh?"

"I'll try," I tell him.

"That's my girl. I know you two miss each other. I'm always catching you two looking at each other when the other isn't looking. I can tell by the frowns you both wear that neither of you like where you're at."

I nod. I'm not happy. I'm miserable not being able to talk to Edward. I hate that he's avoiding me. It makes me think of how I treated him last year after Mom got sick. It sucks eggs.

"It'll get better."

"Alright then," he says with a smile. "Have a good time. Call me tomorrow when you're ready to be picked up."

"I will. Thanks, Dad. Love you!"

**. . .**

I get home from Angela's around two the next afternoon. She's really nice, but her parents are religious and strict. We had to be in bed by ten, and say a prayer before dinner and breakfast. It was a bit much for me. Thank God Rose had said no to coming over. She would have went ballistic.

"I'm sorry," Angela had whispered to me just after dinner time. "My parents really like you, though."

Edward's behind his closed bedroom door. _Again. _When I knock, he comes to the door instead of saying _come in_ like he used to.

His eyes are cool. "So you're home."

"Yep. Can I come in?"

He sighs, then swings the door wide.

"Question," I say just inside the door. I'm more than aware that he doesn't want me here. "What falls but doesn't break, and what breaks but doesn't fall?"

I follow him over to the chair at his desk. When he sits down, I sink to my knees beside him.

"It's my heart," I tell him. "Are you ever going to forgive me?"

He scoots his chair back from me so I'm forced to let go of his arm. "I'm working on it."

A lance of pain shoots through my heart. Okay. Fine. He's not ready to forgive me yet. I thought because he let me in, that he was. I nod and push myself back up, then turn to leave. As I walk to the door, I notice how immaculate his room is. Nothing out of place, no clothes on the floor. The dark blue carpet swims in front of my eyes.

I've got my hand on the doorknob when he pulls me to him from behind. The tears I was holding back erupt like an ugly volcano, and these horrible sounds are bubbling up from my throat. I want to turn around and hug him back, but he won't let me.

"It's okay," he says into my hair. "I forgive you."

**. . .**

**The answer to Bella's riddle for Edward is actually **_**day and night, **_**but she changed the answer to fit the situation.**


	10. Ugly Face

My knees are trembling, actually _knocking _against each other. I was good on the way up to the podium at the front of the auditorium—it felt like I was walking in a water world heavy with silence. Kind of cool, actually. But once I turn to face the entire 7th grade class and realize that I'm not dreaming, that 90-plus faces are all focused on me, life grinds to a halt. My heart stops, then races like I'm running a marathon. I can feel that my face is red, and that my ears are hot and throbbing.

_Don't forget to breathe, _Mr. Banner's frog-like voice says in my head._ If a speaker faints during his speech, it's probably because he wasn't breathing._

I gulp, and air skitters like ice into my lungs. I thought Mr. Banner had been joking about the fainting part. Geeze, I'm sweating, and the air is brittle like I'm breathing outside in winter.

I look at my note cards.

_I grw up in a fmihy not that ulibe the frytl wrld of Cnnrlla, yt I crted one fthe scrst mnstrs ofll tme._

I whimper and draw it out into a throat clear.

"Miss Swan? Okay?"

Mrs. Thexton is the English teacher. She's unusually pretty with thick eyebrows, laser blue eyes, and a blunt, silver white pageboy. But at this moment, I can't help but see her as The Enemy.

"I feel faint," I say in an awkward gasp.

People laugh. Rose mashes her lips together as her face crumples for me. Mike looks torn between laughter and sympathy. Jasper draws a finger across his throat.

"Inhale, Miss Swan," Banner barks from the back of the room. "Inhale loud enough that we can hear you."

I'd rather wake up in The Matrix at this point, but I do what he says. It's just a gulp, though, not an inhale at all.

His voice comes again. "Exxxxxxhale."

I force air out and stagger against the wooden podium, which slides against the floor in a screech. I can't see or hear anything other than laughter now. The room is undulating in waves with it and so am I.

My kick ass speech as Mary Shelly ends before it begins in blackness.

**. . .**

At lunch, I rest my head on my arms. I can't eat. Humiliation is still at home in my stomach and I have a head ache from where I knocked it against the podium. My face and knees are also scratched and sore. Turns out it's dangerous if you faint. And now there are few volunteers sitting on stage with the person giving their speech. You know, just in _case. _

"It was like her bones just melted or something," Jasper was telling the table. "After she hit her head, I just sat there. I thought it was a joke."

I raise my head to glare at him.

He raises his hand and Sprock sticks his felt tongue out at me. "Jasper says he's sorry."

"Tell Jasper he sucks," I say and lay my head back down.

"Let me see your face," Edward says. He must have left his place at the table. Some girl named Lauren is eating lunch with us today. She's Edward's new girlfriend. They never last for more than a couple of weeks. I hate them all.

I raise my head and let him stare at my boo-boos.

"Imagining everyone naked didn't work," I tell him.

His touch is light on my cheek, just below the scrape. "Guess not."

"Don't laugh."

"I wasn't."

"I saw your mouth twitch."

"I'm still chewing my food."

"Gross."

"You okay?"

"Embarrassed. Angry. But other than that, I'm just dandy."

He ruffles my hair like Dad does. It pisses me off, so I shove him away.

Rose's speech is after lunch. The block teachers—our English, Social Studies and Math class monsters—have combined their hours and classes for two weeks in order to torture us students. And make us give oral speeches on dead historical figures of note. Several students have gone frozen, given leaden speeches, or cried. I'm the first one who's fainted.

Even worse?

They want me to try _again_.

I have to, or I'll get a big fat F.

But first, it's Rose's turn. "I'll warm them up for you," she says.

She's giving her speech on Florence Nightingale, the lady who founded modern nursing. Because Florence was said to have been pale, Rose patted down her skin—even her forearms—with white face powder. She's wearing a black shirt, a white top with a black vest, and a nurse's cap she got from who-knows-where. As she walks up to the podium, leaving a powder smell in her wake, I can't stop smiling.

"The city of Florence, Italy was named after me," she begins and it's the funniest thing I've ever heard in my life. "And yes," she continues. "Nightingale _is _my real last name."

My stomach aches I'm laughing so hard.

Thirty minutes later, I'm breathing in ice again. It's my last chance. Rose and Jasper both got through their speeches just fine. Well, Jasper paused for long moments during some of his speech, but Rose knocked it out of the park. I'll be happy if I don't faint or barf.

I close my eyes as soon as I get to the podium and _innnnnnnnhale._

"I wrote Frankenstein! Rrrrrrrrr!" I growl.

Everyone's laughing now, but they're laughing _with_ me this time, not at me.

I think.

**. . . **

"Why is that cheese called Laughing Cow?" I ask Edward as he slathers some of it on a Triscuit. His face contorts as he chews the cheese and the cracker. I watch him with my chin propped up on my hands.

"Dunno," he says to my look of interest. "Don't care."

"I don't think a cow even knows how to laugh. It's a stupid name."

He swallows loudly, then, "You throw away the outside, then eat the inside, then throw away the inside. What am I?"

"A McDonald's hamburger?"

**. . . **

It's Christmas again. Our first without Mom. It's … awkward, but I'm determined to fill the house with Christmas decorations just like she did. Dad has never put the tree up, and Edward and I have only ever helped Mom, so it's a bit of a struggle. Edward helps me get the tree post and all of the branches out of the box, then stands beside me as we look at it all with dread.

"Well," I sigh. "The tree's not going to put itself up."

There are three row of branches and the metal tips that go into the tree trunk are color-coded. I've shoved a bunch of blues into the green slots before I realize this, and have to pluck them all back out again.

"This is fun," I tell Edward. "Really gets me into the Christmas spirit!"

He laughs and gooses my butt.

It takes a long while and several tree branch finger cuts before the tree is up and lit.

"The decorations," Edward says with a sigh.

"You first."

He digs out the angel topper.

"No, that's last."

He shrugs. "Well, call me when you're ready."

I bend over and pull out our Lifesaver's Men. Edward's is Win-to-Green and I'm Wild Cherry. We made them maybe three years ago by stuffing yarn down the middle of the roll and tying the ends into arms and feet. The heads are Ping-Pong balls with shiny foil stars for the eyes, nose and mouth. They make me smile whenever I see them.

"Look, it's Bella and Edward," I say to him.

He takes Bella from me and hangs her up high in the tree, way past where I could reach. So I take Edward and hang him at my waist.

"They're not getting along?" I ask.

"They're just trying different things," he says.

"Well, I hope she's back in time for dinner. It's Ritz cracker pork chop and applesauce night."

Edward cheers. "She'll be there."

**. . . **

I'm under the tree late at night again this year. Actually, I fell asleep a while ago and woke up when Edward bent down to lay beside me because his knee cracked.

"You're here again," he says.

"Um hmm."

"Looking for elves?"

"No. An angel."

"I can't reach her without the chair."

"That's just it. _He _doesn't want to be reachable."

"Ohhhh. A _he_?"

"That's right. He's been watching over me lately. He doesn't want me to know."

Edward shifts uncomfortably, finally getting my drift.

I roll over, scoot close, and lay my head on his chest. "He found _me_, though."

His fingers are warm against my arm. "Do you still miss her?"

"Yes. I think I always will. Don't you?"

His fingers still. "I wasn't close to her like you were, Bella. Those last few months with her? She was a dragon."

I close my eyes and sigh heavily.

"Plus," he continues, "I don't think I'll ever forgive her for what she did to you."

I stiffen. He sounds ominous. "What did she do to me?"

The fingers tighten, then move softly against my skin. "She bullied you. Tried to make you think that leaving was a bad thing."

"But she didn't mean it."

"But she said it."

And we're back to _that _again.

"Sometimes when people are mad, they say things they don't mean," I tell him hotly and try to push away, but he holds me fast.

"I know that. But she was good at manipulating people, especially you."

I shake my head against his chest. "I don't even know what that means."

He sighs and grips my arm hard again. "It means that she was good at making you do what she wanted. She was good at making you feel the way she wanted you to feel."

"How could she do that?" I ask, and I'm bewildered and a little angry. If he just came here to make me feel sad, well, he can go back to bed.

"She did that by crying. By getting mad. And by saying hurtful things."

I think about it. He's right, but I didn't want to hear it.

"I don't want to talk about Mom," I say. "And I thought you'd forgiven me for what I said."

"I have."

"Then why bring it up again? That's not fair."

"You're right. I'm sorry. I guess it still hurts."

I tighten my arm around his stomach. "It shouldn't. You know I don't feel that way about you."

"I know."

"But the words still hurt."

"They hurt less and less," he admits.

"Good. Then those words should be a distant memory when 2015 comes. Right?"

He flips me onto my back and starts tickling me.

"Stop," I gasp. "You'll make me wake up Dad."

I'm still out of breath and smiling when he backs away and stares down at me with a puzzled look on his face. I frown back.

"What is it?"

He shakes his head, then lays back down. He's no longer touching me. "Nothing."

**. . .**

The next night, Christmas Eve, Edward wakes me up. I've got tears on my face and Mom's voice in my head.

"You were yelling at her," he said and sits on the side of my bed.

I sniff and turn on my side to face him. "She was yelling at _me._"

"Want to talk about it?"

"No. Will you say with me?"

He climbs under the covers behind me.

It's not the first time I've had a bad dream about Mom, but it's the first time Edward's ever come to wake me up from one.

**. . .**

Dad's big Christmas gift for me and Edward is to treat all six of us—Alice, Rose, Emmett and Jasper—to front row seats at a Komets hockey game.

I've never been a real big fan of hockey, but I have to admit that it's exciting. Right now, there's a song called _Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting_ blasting over the speakers as the players scramble on the ice.

Down on the ice, one of the Komets must whack in a puck and score, because an air horn sounds and then people are shooting to their feet and cheering. Queen's _We Will Rock You _is playing now and I'm jumping up and down with Rose and Alice. Dad and the boys are watching us and laughing, and we're having a great time. It's turning out to be the best gift ever.

_Moves Like Jagger_ is playing when I notice a girl in the row behind us is leaning forward to talk to Edward. She has long, curly red hair and a couple of girlfriends who seem to be egging her on. I want to tell them to leave him alone.

"He gets all the girl's attention," Jasper grouses. "Just because he's tall."

"Nah, it's that ugly face of his," Emmett says. "Besides, there's three of them. One for each of us."

I roll my eyes, then yell Edward's name. He turns to me and he's all smiles. I beckon him over to me, and he comes.

"Trade seats with Alice. I need someone to explain what's going on," I say.

"Yeah, right," Alice mutters, but she gets up and Edward takes her seat. I was sure he'd complain or fight me about it, but he does it willingly. I squeal and hug his arm.

"Who were those girls?"

He gives me a look. "I don't know. They just started talking to me."

There's a fight down on the ice and his attention is snapped away from me. "That's going to be a penalty," he says.

I look back the way he came and smile at the red-haired girl. She's shooting daggers at me, but she gets the last smile because she hands Edward a piece of paper as we leave.

"I'm Vicky. Call me."

I don't know why I'm suddenly uncomfortable with all the attention Edward gets, but I just am. He's _my _brother.

Behind me, Dad groans. "God help me."

**. . .**

That night, Rose, Alice and I study ourselves in my full length, sliding mirrored closet doors.

Rose, who's only 14 like me, has the biggest boobs. Alice, who's 15, is still as flat as I am, something we are both unhappy about. Rose also has the best hair. It's silver-blond, long and wavy.

Alice has the best nose and eyes. Her hazel eyes are cat-shaped and slant at the corners, giving her an exotic look. "I just have to wear padded bras to get people to look at my eyes," she says with sigh.

It's decided that I have the best legs and skin, although I don't agree. I try and see something of Mom in my face, but the only thing I seem to have inherited from her is her mouth; a fuller upper lip and a skinny bottom one. It's always seemed odd to me, but boys are always looking at my mouth.

"You have your dad's doe-brown eyes," Rose says and I laugh at the way he'd wince if he heard her describe them.

"You have your mom's big boobs," I say.

She lifts them in the palm of her hands. "Yep. These babies definitely came from Mom."

"I wonder if I'll ever get _my_ mom's boobs," I say. It's way past time. I bleed and suffer through cramps every month. Where's the second part of the deal?

"You should eat more," Alice says. "You're too skinny. People who eat more have bigger boobs."

"Then we should _both _eat more," I tell her with a heavy glance at her own skinniness.

We start by going down to the kitchen and making root beer floats.

**. . .**

**Edward's riddle answer for Bella: corn on the cob.**

**An anonymous someone left a comment referencing my Disclaimer on Chapter 1, where I stated that this piece of fanfic isn't going to make my fortune. Then this person referenced Fifty Shades of Grey, which used to be a Twilight fanfic.**

**I just have to say that it's unlikely this little story here is going to match the sexual power or mind games of Master of the Universe (FSoG), but if it ever DID … well, let's just say that I'd be the most surprised person in the **_**universe**_**. **

**:: fingers crossed that it does, or that I win the lottery, whichever comes first :: **


	11. Puberty Blues

**Guess I was feeling especially prolific today, because here's another chapter. Three in two days. You guys are spoiled.**

**. . .**

Edward gets to take driving lessons during the summer. Dad found an old silver Honda Civic and set up a checking account for Edward. Once he passes his test and is 16-and-one-month old, Edward gets a job at Starbucks and is hardly ever home anymore.

"Gotta pay off the car," he said to me and winked.

It's unlikely that's going to happen any time soon, though, seeing as how the car was $6000 and Edward only makes like $140 a week.

So it's just Alice, Rose and me who are catching rays at the pool this Saturday. Jasper's at an artist's retreat, which is really only a hotel downtown, and Emmett is pounding the pavement looking for his own job.

I'm a little down because it's not the same without all of us here. Why do people have to grow up anyway? Seems like a drag to me, except for the car thing. And maybe the more-freedom thing.

"You're not going to tan if you don't use some of Hawaiian Tropic," Rose tells me.

"Yes, I will. I'm just doing it without getting all oily."

"Will you do my back?" She flips over and undoes her bikini top, and I rub some oil on her. She's already darker than me and Alice put together. Of course, Alice wears SPF30 and a floppy sunhat. Sometimes she forgets that it's still on when she jumps in the pool.

I'm trying out my new dark blue bikini. I still don't have boobs, so I ordered some silicone bra inserts from Amazon. I told Dad it was for some new bras, and he waved his hands and told me he didn't want to know. So now I have boobs, too. I stare down at my chest with the blue bumps. Not bad for $20.

"Mike and Erik are coming over," Alice tells us. "And Jasper will be here once he gets done. So it'll be almost like having everyone back."

Rose groans. Erik has the worst crush on her, and Mike's a big flirt who says the grossest things. "Allie, why? It's just supposed to be us today, remember?"

"Erik overheard me taking to Mike about our pool, and thought I'd asked Mike over. So he was acting all hurt until I asked him. And then Mike wanted to come because Erik was coming. What was I supposed to do?"

"You still like Erik, don't you?" I ask her. He's a year younger than her, but Alice has a thing for blond boys with curly hair.

"Maybe," she shrugs. "Maybe not. He likes Rose."

Rose groans again. "I am _not _interested in Erik."

I think she likes Emmett. He's grown at least a foot in the last few months, and is now taller than Edward. He wants to join the freshman football team in September, so he's been working out too. Rose has noticed, although she's careful about showing it.

This is the first summer that I'm not playing softball, and I don't really miss it. I wasn't very good, but I did love the running part. Edward said maybe I should go out for track this coming year. I'm considering it.

When Erik and Mike show up, we're ready to get in the water. Erik's wearing green swim trunks and sporting a silver necklace that gleams against his tanned chest. I see Rose crook an eyebrow at me in appreciation. Mike's got the pasty white boy look going on. We laugh at that until he and Erik bet us girls that we can't make a bigger cannonball splash than just the two of them can.

We call Mrs. McCarty out to be the judge, and, sport that she is, she takes her place at the top of the diving board.

"Boys first," she says.

Mike and Erik back up and get ready to run at us. "We're going to send half the water out of the pool," Mike brags.

"One. Two. Three!"

Erik does the perfect cannonball, but Mike slips and does a back splash instead. Not great. We can beat that.

"Okay, girls, show them what you've got," Mrs. McCarty cries. "I have to warn you boys, these girls have been cannonballing in this pool for years. You better stand back."

Rose, Alice and I hold hands and then on the count of three, we're off! I'm not sure how Rose and Alice did, but my cannonball was perfect, tilted just so for the maximum splash.

Mike and Erik know we've won. They concede by crashing into the water with us.

We're all splashing each other and taking turns dunking each other when Erik points at something behind me. "What's that?"

My left boob is gaily bobbing along in the water.

**. . .**

Mrs. McCarty gives me a hug. "It'll be fine, Bella. These things happen all the time."

I'm on the edge of tears again. I'm never going back out there. How can I ever face Mike and Erik again? I want to die.

"They don't happen to boys," I cry and rub at my eyes. "Boys don't have to worry about getting boobs or their hair, or have to bleed every month. It's not fair."

She sits me down at the kitchen table and pours me a glass of lemonade. "It's not fair," she tells me. "But you know what? Boys have to go through their own embarrassing moments."

I'm all ears. What do boys have to go through?

"This is just between you and me, okay?"

I nod solemnly. I'd promise almost anything at this point, I was dying so badly to know what could possibly compare to my latest humiliation.

"Nocturnal emissions," she whispers. "Wet dreams."

Oh boy, am I disappointed. "But those happen at _night_. Nobody sees them. How is _that_ embarrassing?"

She gives me a look heavy with significance. "Stained sheets."

My frown lightens somewhat at the thought that maybe Mike's sheets are stained.

And then, "Sheets that _Mom sees?_" she finishes with a slam dunk.

I'm red from head to toe. Seeing this, she laughs and pats my shoulder.

"So, all," I stutter. "All boys go through this?"

"Every one of them, I assure you. _No_ one gets to escape puberty, honey."

**. . .**

"Dad?"

"Yes, Bella?"

He puts the newspaper down when I don't answer.

"What is it, Bella?"

"Uh." I fidget. How do I say this? "Do you … ever see Edward's sheets?"

He frowns at me. "His sheets?"

"Yes. Edward's sheets. When you do the laundry, you know?"

"Oh," he says and immediately raises the paper up again, so I only get to see the top of his head. "No. Edward does his own sheets. Always has."

I'm disappointed, but I grin anyway. Busted!

**. . .**

It's Monday, cleaning day at the Swan household, which means I'm on my hands and knees scrubbing the bathtub. I'm panting and grumbling through every minute, too, because this is hard work and my muscles can't take it. Edward should be doing the bathroom, he's stronger than me, but nooooo. He got kitchen and living room duty. All he had to do was scrub the floor, wipe the counter tops, dust and sweep. Oh, and take out the trash. Big whoop.

"You done yet, Grumbleasaurus? I have to use the john."

"No," I snap. "And you can't use the john until I'm done in here because I'm not scrubbing the toilet just after you've gone in it. Urgh!"

He's laughing, which just pisses me off more. "No, really, Bella, I have to go."

"No, really, Edward, you have to _wait_."

He grabs my arms and hauls me up from the tub, then pushes me out of the bathroom.

"Hey!" I bang on the closed door. "Don't you dare take a dump!"

I slide down the closed door with a huff, waiting for him to be done. He's probably going to take a day and a ha—

Suddenly I'm on the floor looking up at Edward's upside down face. He's still way too jolly for me. "What are you doing down there?"

I jump up and join him at the sink, where he's washing his hands. As soon as I have the thought, my hands are cupped under the water and then I flick them at his face. Water goes everywhere, but it's okay because I haven't gotten to the sink to clean yet.

I'm laughing at Edward's startled, wet face when he takes the cup at the sink and fills it with water.

"No way," I say and back up. "That's not fair."

"You started it," he says with a wicked grin. "Now I'm going to finish it."

I grab his wrist with both hands and try to hold the cup away, and some of the water splashes out on both of us. I laugh and knock his hand back so more spills out on him. The top of his head is all wet. Then so is mine, and Edward's back at the sink getting more water.

I race for the tub and the detachable shower head. Just as a whoosh of cold water climbs up my back, making me scream, I'm turning with the shower head and aiming it at his face. Seeing what I'm about to do, he lunges forward, yanks it out of my grip, then sprays me with it!

"Better get in the shower," he yells over my screams. "Or say I'm sorry."

The water is freezing! My shoes are squeaking against the linoleum. I can't see anything but our feet, so I aim myself at them. Water is getting all over the floor.

"Edwarrrrrrrd! Stop!"

He lowers the spray from my head to my chest. "Say I'm sorry."

I gasp and cross my arms over my chest. I'm not wearing a bra! "I'm sorry! Dammit! I'm sorry!"

The water stops and the sound of his laughter is echoing off the walls. I take a step, slip and then crash to my butt.

Through wet eyelashes, I see him bent over at the waist with his hands on his knees because he's laughing so hard. I don't think I've ever seen him laugh like this. And then I'm laughing, too, because it _is _funny, even though I now have an even bigger job ahead of me.

And then he stops laughing and he's looking at me all funny. At my chest. I look down and see my nipples poking at my wet shirt, and gasp. I grab my cold, wet shirt and pull it away from my skin. It makes a squelching sound.

"Stop looking!"

"Wear a bra next time!"

"Get out!"

"Make me!"

I'm afraid to stand, though. It's slippery, plus I'd have to let go of my shirt.

"Just go, Edward."

"Fine. I'm done anyway."

Now he's all moody. He slams the door on the way out and suddenly I want to cry.

"What stinks while living, but smells good when dead?!" I yell after him.

**. . .**

It's after ten-thirty on Friday night and Dad is mad because Edward isn't home yet. He got off work at nine and was supposed to be home over an hour ago. Plus, he's not answering his phone, so Dad is worried, too. And so am I. This isn't like Edward. Responsible is his middle name, for crying out loud.

"You go to bed," Dad says at eleven. "I'll wake you if I need to."

A frog is in my throat. I couldn't sleep if my life depended on it, but the look on Dad's face, and the tone of his voice tells me to do exactly what he says or else. So I climb the stairs slowly, straining my ears for the sound of a car coming up the driveway, but there's nothing.

Where is Edward?

**. . .**

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I hear are footsteps stomping up the stairs. Turning to look at the clock on my nightstand, I see it's just after mid-night. I'm about to get up to investigate when I hear a second set of footsteps. These steps pause outside my door and I hear a knock.

"Yes?" I say around my furiously beating heart.

Dad pokes his head in my door. "He's home. Everything's fine. Go back to sleep."

But I don't. I wait for another hour before I creep across the hallway to Edward's room and knock softly on his door. If he's awake, he'll hear it.

A moment later, his door opens. His eyes are bloodshot and he's shirtless.

"What?" He's belligerent.

"Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

I step back. Why is he so angry? "Where were you?"

"Out."

"I know that. Why? We were worried."

"Didn't need to be."

What a grump. He's obviously in no mood to talk. "Why did you even answer your door?"

"I didn't want you to just walk in."

I made a sound of disgust. "Sorry I bothered you."

"Yeah, me too."

I'm not in my bed for five minutes before the door opens. It's the grump, who didn't bother to knock. I guess it's okay if _he _just walks in.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm just in a bad place right now."

"And you don't care about anyone else's bad place," I sniff.

"Bella," he sighs and pulls my hair.

"Mom didn't come home that time," I tell him. "I was worried that you wouldn't, either."

He groans and lays his forehead against my back. "God. I didn't even think… I'm sorry, Bella."

I still won't roll over to face him. "Where were you?"

"At a party. With a guy I work with."

I laugh a little. "So you were out having fun, ignoring us while we worried. That's just great, Edward."

"Hey, I already got the third degree from Dad. I don't need it from you."

"Then go back to your room and leave me alone."

"You came to me first," he gritted.

"Yeah? Well obviously I didn't need to worry, like told you me, so you can go to bed with a clear conscience now."

He pulls my hair until it hurts and I ask him to stop. Then, he leaves.

**. . .**

Things are tense between the three of us for the next few days. I'm not talking to Edward, and Edward's not talking to me or Dad. What a big baby.

"I packed your lunch, Dad. Leftover meatloaf and mashed potatoes."

"Thanks, Bells. Any chocolate chip cookies left?"

I grinned at him. "I packed a few of those, too."

Edward makes a face at me after Dad leaves. "What a perfect little daughter you are."

I scoff. "Not really. I'm same as I was yesterday. If anything, _you_ were the perfect son. Top of your class, fencing champ, responsible kid with a job and a car. But you're the one who screwed up and feels bad about it."

He's quiet for so long that I have to look over at him. His face looks like a mix of humor and anger. "How'd you get so smart?"

I take my dishes to the sink and begin rinsing them. "Same as you, Edward. Bad stuff happened. We had to deal with it. Everything else just seems kind of … stupid and tame, you know?"

He brings his own dishes to the sink, then hugs me from behind. I keep rinsing, trying to hide that his hug is going a long way to healing the hurt inside. He rests his forehead on my shoulder and it's nice.

"I really do love you, Bell. You know that, right?"

"I do. Even when you don't act like it."

"Which is _rare_."

"Which is rare. You can make it up to me if you load the dishwasher, though."

He laughs and kisses the skin at my shoulder. And suddenly I'm breathless as goose bumps raise all along my skin.

**. . .**

**Bella's angry riddle answer for Edward: a pig.**


	12. Change Sucks

Mike Newton has a serious case of hairography going on from too much gel. If he's not wearing it smooshed against his scull Bieber-style, then he wears it two inches above his forehead. I think the Bieber-style looks stupid, but it's probably the safer option.

We're in gym class and I just mistakenly smacked the volleyball against Mike's head, and I swear I heard his hair crunch. However, his being hit in the head by my ball wasn't my fault because he tried to do some kind of superhero move to save _his_ fly ball. _His_ team is beside _ours_.

This is something Jessica Stanley doesn't understand. She thinks I wacked him on the head on purpose, that I must be out to _steal_ her man or something. Her blue eyes are flashing at me as she holds on to Mike's forearm with both hands. "You're really dangerous with that ball, Bella."

I nod and toss the ball up and down lightly. "I am. Especially if people's hair get in the way."

Mike grins at me, then turns to smile at the blond girl at his side. "I'm okay, Jess. I've got a pretty hard head," he says suggestively.

She giggles and takes a step closer to him. Marking a territory I could care less about.

I gag.

Once she's walking away from him, Mike turns back to me and gives my body a quick once-over. "Looking good, Bella."

"Asshole casserole," I mutter. Ever since Alice invited him to the pool a few months ago, he's been acting overly-familiar with me. It has to stop. I have to come up with a plan or something.

"Bella!" Rose moves her head like a black girl with attitude. "You gonna serve or what?"

I flip her off. It's our new sign for _I love ya like a sister_.

**. . .**

Lunch time this year is a sad affair, as is riding the bus. Edward, Emmett and Alice go to high school now. Nothing feels the same, and it's not a good difference. Especially when I see Ben, Tyler and Mike carrying their lunch trays to our table. Well, Ben is okay, especially since Angela and he are friends, but Mike and Tyler can go poop up a rope.

I write Angela a note to give to Ben.

_Dear Ben,_

_Please don't bring Mike and Tyler to our lunch table. No maggots allowed._

_Thanks,_

_Bella, Rose and Jasper_

I add a skull and crossbones so he'll know I'm not kidding.

Turns out, though, that Angela likes and wants Ben at our table, and he just so happens to come with the package deal of Mike and Tyler. And Jessica comes with Mike. And Lauren comes with Jessica. Pretty soon, Rose, Jasper and I feel like outsiders at the table we've eaten at for years.

Change sucks.

**. . .**

The good news? It's Saturday night and we're all watching movies at Alice and Emmett's place because they have the best … everything. Well, we're waiting for Emmett and Edward to bring home the bacon. Edward gets off work in half an hour, and Emmett should be here any time.

The bad news? Emmett and Edward are bringing _girls. _

This sucks on numerous levels, the most important being that two new people are going to upset our established dynamic of six. We don't _need _anyone new. We already have:

Valley Girl Barbie (Rose)

Flower Girl (Alice)

Bella Jellybean (Me)

Dudley Doo-Right (Edward)

Fruit of the Loom (Emmett)

Happy Meal, No Onions (Jasper)

We don't _need_ Goth Girl Leah or Red Lips Vicky.

Rose finally confided that she's kinda-sorta interested in Emmett, but she's also interested in some guy who lives a few houses down from her—Riley. He's like two years older than us and smokes cigarettes and pot. She doesn't want to like him, but she can't help it. So Emmett's like second in her mind when Riley is around, but when Riley's _not _around, she wants Emmett's undivided attention. Which … she isn't going to get tonight, seeing as how Goth Girl Leah is going to have her black-painted nails all over his biceps.

I already don't like Red Lips just on principle. I don't know her, but she wants Edward, and I don't want her to get him. Plus, her vivid red mouth makes my skin crawl. Who'd want to kiss that? Yuck. I can't believe Edward called her. And! That after nine months, she agreed to meet him. She must be desperate. So must he, if he kept her number all those months. Maybe they deserve each other.

No. He's too good for her. I'm almost sure of it.

Emmett and Leah show up just after I've creamed everybody in Bowling on the Wii. I'm amped up from my win, and feeling feisty, so I run and jump into his arms.

"Emmett! I actually won at something!" And I place a noisy kiss on his cheek.

He giggles and tosses me a foot in the air, making me squeal like a pig and ruining my moment because winners don't squeal.

"You guys know Leah, right?" he asks us.

Leah looks a snooze away from dead boredom as she meets my eye. I grin as I imagine her falling asleep during the movie, because that would mean no kissing for Emmett. Maybe I should make her some chamomile tea.

"Do you like tea?" I ask.

She wrinkles her nose, killing that idea. "I'd rather have a Coke."

"Let's go get her a Coke," Rose says and hooks arms with me and Alice.

When we're in the kitchen grabbing Cokes and chips for everyone, Rose turns to us and says, "I hate her."

I play devil's advocate. "Yeah, but Emmett likes her. And you don't even know her."

"I don't need to know her to know that I don't like her. She's totally wrong for Emmett. He's like … _day. _And she's totally night."

"Opposites attract," Alice says and pops a chip into her mouth.

"They won't last," Rose mutters.

"Probably not. Statistics say that we're going to fall in and out of love a bunch of times before we even graduate from high school."

"He's not in love with her," Rose tells Alice. "Geeze."

And then she gives me a fierce look. I put my hands up. "8 Ball says: My sources say no."

Jasper and I are playing thumb war when Edward shows up. He uses the distraction to his advantage and smooshes my thumb.

"Ow!" I yelp and tug his ear.

He yelps back and releases my thumb. Victory!

My stomach falls when I see Vickie, who indeed still has vibrant red lips, with Edward. She's hanging behind Edward and clasping his arm with both of her hands, acting like she's shy. I don't know her, but I know this much: that girl isn't shy.

"Edwarrrrrrd," Emmett says suggestively. "Who you got there?"

"Everyone, this is Vickie. She goes to Elmhurst?" And he pulls her in front of him, leaving his hands on her shoulders.

The boys talk smack about Vickie's school, which is a football and track rival, but I don't hear anything but the roar of the ocean in my ears. I am not prepared for the twinge of pain I feel inside at seeing Edward fawn over a girl. Is it just because I don't like Vickie? I didn't like the other girls, either, but they were easier to ignore. They weren't … here … in my world, only at school and in Edward's world.

"So you're Edward's sister," Vickie says to me. Am I the only one who hears the emphasis on the word _sister_?

I stick my hands down my back pockets. "Yep. That's me. Edward's _sister._"

Behind Vickie, Edward frowns at me.

"I'm so glad," she says and giggles.

I bet. I remember that icy look she gave me.

"I remember you," Rose says. "You were hitting on Edward at the hockey game we went to last year."

Vickie flushes and Edward sputters. I burst out laughing.

"Everyone hits on Edward," Emmett says in falsetto voice and bats his eyelashes at Edward.

"We were about to watch the movie," Alice says. "Emmett, dim the lights!"

I settle back onto my piece of the couch beside Jasper, and Alice sits on the other side of him. It's a little tight because it's a love seat, but we're used to it.

"What are we watching?" Edward asks. He and Vickie sit in the double-wide chaise at the corner of the room. I turn away and focus on my chips and the TV.

"Ouija," Emmett says.

I roll my eyes. Of _course_. I trade a look with Rose, who's sitting on the couch opposite us with Emmett and Dead Goth Girl Leah. Why the frell is Rose sitting there with them?

"Trade seats with Rose," I tell Jasper and shove him up. He grumbles and goes to her, and she races across to us.

"You're the best," she says and kisses my cheek.

"I am," I say. "But so are you. _You were hitting on Edward," _I imitate her tone. "Priceless."

Rose, Alice and I snicker and whisper until the movie begins.

"It's not nice to whisper," Edward tells us, but he's really only looking at me.

I shrug and grin, then ignore him for the rest of the evening.

**. . .**

"You weren't very nice to Vickie and Leah tonight," Edward says as he follows me up the stairs to our rooms.

"I wasn't there to entertain them," I say and race for the bathroom. He sees what I'm doing, though, and grabs me. The world spins and then I'm facing back the way I came and Edward is standing in the bathroom doorway.

"You suck."

"You take too long," he tells me. "And besides, you didn't answer my question."

I lean against my bedroom door and cross my arms. "What question, Lip Smacker?"

He repeats the name I've called him silently and grins, then gives me a serious look again. "The girls. You weren't nice. Why?"

"I didn't think you or Emmett came up for breath long enough to notice," I laugh. "Anyway, I don't have to like Goth Girl or Red Lips. And I don't."

"Why?"

I pretend to think about it. "I don't know. I just don't. Same way that you just don't like peanut butter."

"Whatever. You don't have to tell me."

"There's no raging reason, Edward," I lie. "Now go take your shower so I can take mine. And don't take forever, or else I'll know what you're doing."

He looks surprised, and then evil. "What do you think I would be doing?"

Woops. Walked into that one. "Picking your nose."

**. . .**

Sometime in the middle of eighth grade, boys finally start to notice that I have boobs. And a butt. It kind of happened overnight, because I don't remember waking up one day and looking in the mirror to see that I finally had something that filled my bra's cups. I just knew that one day, boys started snapping the strap of my bra and squeezing my butt cheeks.

It was flattering and embarrassing. I was used to being ignored that way by boys. I was used to feeling like one of the guys. The attention was great … until it wasn't.

"You don't have any falsies in there, do you?" Mike asks and tries to peel the collar of my t-shirt away from my skin.

Rage and embarrassment fills me from head to toe, and I punch him right in his big nose. _Ohmigod_, does it hurt! I don't know who's hurt worse, him or me; we're both doing the owie dance. I never knew hitting someone would hurt this bad. Maybe if I did, I would have kicked him instead.

I get sent to the principal's office and Dad has to come and pick me up because I am suspended from school for three days. Dad's so mad that he grounds me from TV and my phone for two weeks, no matter what I say.

"Violence is never the answer," he just says.

I'm pouting in my room, because I can't go to the basement (there's a TV) and I can't go to the living room (because there's a TV) when Edward comes in.

"You're supposed to knock," I say to the ceiling, because I'm just laying on my bed feeling sorry for myself and my sore hand.

He goes back out the door and knocks.

"Come in," I say tonelessly. I'm so bored.

"What's happening, Mike Tyson?"

"Shut up."

"No really, what's going on? Why did you hit some kid?"

I sit up and face him. "He didn't tell you?"

Edward makes himself at home on my bed, crossing his arms behind his head and laying on one of my pillows. I giggle and lay beside him in an identical pose, but only with the one arm. This is perfect! Now I get to tell _my _story.

"Mike tried to look at my boobs, so I punched him. Nobody cares about the boob part, though. They're just upset that I hit Mike," I snorted.

I'm expecting Edward to laugh or respond in some way, so when he does neither, I look over at him and see that his face is getting red.

"He what?" he asks in a soft voice.

I frown at him. "Did I stutter? I said he tried to look at my boobs, so I hit him. Principal Greene suspended me and—"

"He tried to look at your boobs? Did he _see _anything? Did he touch you?" Edward's looking dangerous. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen him look this way before.

"No, he didn't see anything. He just pulled my t-shirt collar away from my skin and leaned forward—"

"He's dead," Edward says in a steely tone. The look on his face makes me glad I'm not Mike.

"I got him good," I bragged. "He had a bloody nose and everything."

He sits up and gives me searching look. "Are you okay?" And he takes my right hand in his to examine my bruises.

"No, I'm not okay. I'm bored and pissed that I get suspended and grounded, and Mike's getting diddly squat."

His fingers are warm and gentle against my sore hand and arm. "No, Mike's definitely going to get diddly."

I shiver. "What's he going to get?"

"More than just a fist in the face," he tells me, and the look in his eyes scares me. "He's made one too many stupid remarks about you around me. Touching you is the last straw."

"Don't hurt him too badly," I say. "I don't want _you _getting in trouble."

He raises my hand to his lips and my breathing stops. "I won't get in trouble," he says and kisses the worst of my bruising.

**. . .**

**One of my readers brought up the idea that this story might be taken down due to the taboo. In case that happens, I will also be posting this story on my personal website, which is listed on my profile.**


	13. Boobgate

**Quite a few readers are being stingy about commenting, and I'm not too proud to say that it hurts my feelings.**

**But the story must go on. **

**. . .**

Our fifth and sixth period classes are cancelled on Monday because we have an assembly in the gym. That means no PE or science for me, and no PE or social studies for Rose, and we're this-close to breaking out into a jig. Assemblies are an excuse to goof off and sneak bites of Snickers candy bars.

That is, until we find out what the assembly is about: anti-bullying and life skills. A seventh-grade student killed herself last year when she got teased for dressing like a boy, and for wanting to be called Jason instead of her legal name of Jaiden. I never knew her but I am especially sensitive to anyone and anything connected to suicide.

Jasper finds us at the very top of the bleachers, the highest row possible. We're eighth graders now, and if we can't rule the bleacher roost, we're lost as a culture.

Principal Greene introduces the speaker, a pretty blonde woman who says she used to be a man, but her name is now Anna. While her voice is deep, she sounds like a _she. _Anna tells us how it's tough enough just to grow up, but if you add sexual identity complications, it can be hell on earth. Some people gasp as the word comes from her mouth, then snicker. I roll my eyes. Bunch of kids.

As I'm listening to her story, I suddenly notice that people are whispering and pointing to the back of a kid two rows down to the right of where I'm sitting. Rose pushes me aside so she can get a better view, but she only sees the same thing I do: the back of Mike Newton's hair. So she taps the shoulder of the person sitting in front of us, whispering in her ear. The girl then taps the person in front of _her, _and before I know it, we have the story.

"Someone put a sign on Mike Newton's back just above his butt that says _enter here._"

Rose and I trade looks of amused horror. Who would dare? Mike has a nasty temper, so someone's head is definitely going to roll for this.

In the middle of one of Anna's stories, Mike shoots up from his seat and turns to glare at the people behind him. He knows something is going on, but he doesn't know exactly what.

"Do you have something to add, young man?"

Mike whips around to face the front of the gym and Principal Greene, who looks as surprised as Mike does.

"Uh, go Indians!" Mike yells.

Principal Greene's hands are on his hips. "Sit _down._"

Mike turns as red as the shirt he's wearing and sinks back down as a few people laugh, but the atmosphere Anna created doesn't really leave any room for joking. And everyone knows it.

"What would you do if you saw someone you didn't know being bullied?" She asks. And it looks like she's directing her question at Mike.

"What if the act of you stepping up for this person, which verbally lets the bully know his actions are wrong, saves this person's life? Or, what if you don't say anything, and later you find out that the person you saw being bullied put a shotgun to his head and blew a hole through his brain? Would you care _then_?"

I suddenly see Mom's feet swinging in front of me, and jump. Everything goes blurry as tears fill my eyes.

Rose nudges me. "Bella?"

I shake my head, trying to get rid of the memory, but it morphs into what her face looked like. Gray, red, eyes vacant and bloodshot, and tongue protruding. _Mom._

"Bella!"

I fall against Rose's shoulder with a choked gasp. She rubs my back as I try to get myself under control. People are turning to look at me. Don't look at me!

Meanwhile, Anna continues. "Every day there is an average of over 5,400 attempts at suicide by children in grades 7 through 12. And four out of five teens who attempt suicide have given clear warning signs."

Oh god, did Mom? Did the 7th grade girl whose name I can't remember?

I stare down at my knitted hands as Anna lists some of the signs that she says can appear on Twitter, Facebook or just be someone talking to you face-to-face: talking about suicide; saying I'd be better off dead; I hate my life; I won't be bothering you much longer.

My body relaxes slightly as I realize Mom did none of those things. I didn't miss any signs. Thank God, I'm not any more horrible now than I was five minutes ago.

"You okay now?" Rose whispers.

Not really, but I nod anyway. Just when I think I'm past what happened to Mom, it somehow crops back up again. Of all places, why did it have to be at a school assembly? Ugh.

"I used to say those things," Anna tells us. "I even tried to take my life once. Yeah. I ate a bottle of Ambien. Thought I'd just go to sleep and never wake up." She takes a breath. "I got lucky. I was found in time to get fed ash—which tastes just like it sounds—and got my stomach pumped."

People are chattering, and I look at her with a new appreciation. Anna has escaped _death_. Although I kind of think sleeping would be better than to have to eat ash and get my stomach pumped. That sounds pretty horrible.

"I got help. I found out that people do care. _You_ can help prevent a suicide, and you can avoid it yourself because I am here to tell you, people, that that feeling of wanting to die Does. Not. Last. And you _can _make a difference in someone's life if you see them exhibiting the signs. Just listen to them, that's all they want. That's all I wanted—someone who'd hear me. Take the chance and make a difference."

By the time the assembly ends, I'm feeling better, feeling energized. If I ever come across a bully, he better take two giant steps back. I flex my hand with the bruises, which have faded from purple and blue to yellow. Punching frigging hurts, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat if I had to. Even if it meant suspension.

But I'd sure hope helping to save a life would keep Dad from grounding me again.

**. . .**

On Tuesday morning, a little piece of paper is stuck between the slats of my locker. Actually, almost all of the lockers surrounding mine have paper sticking out from them.

"What's that?" Rose wants to know.

I open the piece of paper.

_My name is Mike Newton and I like to look at girl's boobs without their permission._

Mouth gaping, I show it to her.

"Holy you-know-what," she says.

"Did you—did you do this?"

"Hell no. Does that look like my writing?"

I give her a look. "It's not handwritten, it's printed."

Who at this school, besides Rose, Jasper and Principal Greene, knows why I punched Mike last Tuesday? It's not like we'd broadcasted it.

There's a lot of laughing in the hallway surrounding us as people find more of the messages.

"I wouldn't want to be Mike Newton today," Rose snickers.

She looks suspiciously jolly. "You did this, didn't you?"

"Me? I'm innocent. Wasn't my idea."

"Jasper?"

"Maybe it was Mr. Greene," she gasps.

Suddenly my neck is grabbed hard. Fingers dig into my muscles and I yelp.

"_You _did this," Mike says and shoves me against my locker. The door is open, and I stumble and bash my eyebrow on the corner. Sharp pain shoots across my forehead.

"Leave her alone!" Rose yells and shoves back at him. "She had nothing to do with this. It was all Edward, me and Jasper. If you have a problem with that, you need to talk to Edward."

He shoves her off of him and pants heavily.

"In fact, Edward wants to talk to you today. After school. He said he'd be waiting for you."

"Aw, fuck," Mike growls.

There's a crowd around us now. "Ohmigod, Bella's bleeding!"

I raise my hand to my throbbing eyebrow and wince. It hurts. When I take my hand away, I see blood. _A lot _of blood.

"Just what is going on here?" An authoritative voice barks. I don't know who it is. I don't care. I'm in serious pain.

Rose hands me a wad of Kleenex and smirks at Mike. "Guess who's going to get suspended _this _time?"

**. . .**

Mike does get suspended, but I can't even enjoy it because Dad has to come pick me up and take me to get stitches, something that hurts like hell and makes me howl like a baby. Afterwards, my eyes are puffy and my face is splotchy from crying. I even have a big bandage taped above my eye. Now I _look _Mike Tyson.

"What's going on with you and Mike Newton?" Dad wants to know on the way home.

My head leans against the passenger side window. Thank God the eyebrow that got hurt is the left one, or I wouldn't be able to rest my pounding head.

"It was an accident," I tell him because I don't feel like talking. Plus, I don't want to discuss Boobgate with him anymore.

"Listen, Bella, I'm sorry, but I don't want you getting into fights at school. Especially with boys."

"This wasn't a fight," I say dully. It wasn't—Mike grabbed and shoved me before I could even think to defend myself.

"What's this about? Notes that Mike Newton likes … looking at … girls?"

I sigh. "I guess someone found out what Mike tried to do last week, and got mad that he didn't get suspended, too."

Dad is silent while he chews on that.

"What exactly did he try to do?"

"I _told _you. But … do we have to talk about this now? Please. Thinking hurts." Talking hurts. Just breathing hurts.

In answer, he lets me drift against the car window.

**. . .**

Edward's pretty green eyes are dark and glowering, and there's a furrow between his brows.

"Rose and Jasper filled me in," he says shortly. We're in the basement. Dad's given me a reprieve on the no-TV thing, but he still has my phone.

I make a whimpering kind of sound and look at him unhappily. My head still feels lopsided from the swelling and the bandage that feels like it's covering the whole side of my head.

"I don't want to be like Mike Tyson," I tell him. "It sucks."

I flinch from his hand when it raises near my hurt eye, and he looks hurt in turn.

"Bella."

I groan and settle into a fetal position. That way he can't touch my head, and I don't have to look at anything. He curls his body behind mine, sensing that I want to be babied.

"I'm sorry for what he did to you," he says and runs his fingers through my hair. I make a sound of contentment. "I feel like it's my fault for the all the messages around the school. I obviously didn't think it through."

His touch is gentle, but his voice is anything but. In fact, he sounds _this-close_ to doing violence.

"Don't worry about it tonight," I tell him. "Please don't be mad tonight, okay?"

Combined with his touch and the pain pills kicking in, I float softly into a dream where I feel his lips touch my forehead, my nose, my cheek.

**. . .**

On Wednesday, I learn that Mike isn't the only one upset about the notes.

Jessica and Lauren confront me by the sinks in the restroom. "Mike told me what happened," Jessica says with ice in her voice.

I finish washing my hands and grab a paper towel. "Oh really? What'd he tell you?"

"That you can't take a joke. That you think he wanted to look at your boobs." And she curls her lip in amused disgust while she looks at my chest. "Or, what you think are your boobs."

I might not be a C-cup like Jessica, but these twin bumps on my chest aren't some kind of unfortunate growth. They're definitely boobs, and Mike definitely wanted a look. But Jessica doesn't want to hear that.

"Hey, you're probably right," I tell her and edge toward the exit. "He probably just wanted to see what color my training bra was."

"I didn't know they came in any color but _ugly,_" she snarls. "And I'm sure he could care less about what's under your fugly t-shirts. You dress like a bum."

"Except for the no-showering thing, I bet bums are really comfortable."

Lauren steps to the left, halting my progress. Her sweater couldn't be any tighter if she inhaled. She's bigger than Jessica and me combined. "He doesn't like you, you know."

"Definitely not." I point to the bandage on my head.

"He didn't do that, either," Jessica yells. "You're just a damn klutz."

I am a klutz, but she's in denial. Is that why she's so angry?

"I swear," she says and steps up to me until we're nose-and-nose. "If I hear of anything else you've done to get him in trouble, you'll be sorry."

Whoa. I'm already sorry, and I haven't even _done_ anything to Mike Newton. "As far as I'm concerned, Mike Newton is stricken from my vocabulary."

"Stay away from him."

What?! "Tell him to stay away from _me_," I huff.

Jessica's pointer finger shoves me back and to the side. "That won't be a problem, you flat-chested gutter slut."

I'm still reeling at the name she called me long after they've left.

**. . .**

"I used to think it was a joke, but Jessica really does think I'm after Mike," I tell Rose and Alice. "She actually thinks I want him to look at my boobs!"

Alice pats my shoulder. "You poor, poor thing. Are you traumatized?"

"Yes!"

"This calls for chocolate." Rose pulls a bag of Hershey's Miniatures from her duffle bag and dumps it onto my bed. She and Alice fight over the regular Hershey's, while I go straight for the Special Darks.

"My hero," I say around a bar of chocolate. I feel better already.

Rose snaps a bar in two. "We need to take care of her."

"No! No more taking care of things. Just let it be. It'll die down."

Rose stares me down. "I won't let her harass you."

"She's not harassing me. I don't think. It was just the one time—"

My door abruptly opens. "What was just the one time?"

It's Edward. Oh no.

"Um. Nothing. Girl talk," I say and try to wave him back out the door.

Alice is aghast. "Are you spying on us?"

Edward glares at me, then looks at Alice. "Bella won't tell me anything anymore."

I give him an exaggerated _duh_ look. "You can't protect me from everything, Edward. Besides, I can handle Jessica if I need to."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, then paces once, twice across my room.

"Alright. I'll let you handle it," he says, but I don't trust him. He doesn't look defeated. He looks … purposeful.

"What was that about?" Rose wonders after he leaves.

Alice nods. "Something tells me we're going to find out sooner or later."

And we do. A week or so later, Edward is going out with Jessica. Dad lets him take her to dinner and a movie, something that I'm just floored about because Dad says I can't date until I'm 18, and Edward's not even 17. Plus, Edward asking Jessica out hurts my feelings more than I can take. I cry about it once late at night, and once on the evening of their date.

Jessica is verbally ecstatic about their date all over school. Even if Edward wasn't a catch because he's older, he's good-looking, smart and athletic. Apparently he knows how to French-kiss a French man under the table. And he's a gentleman, he opened all of her doors for her and held her hand.

I want to kill her.

I want to hate him.

Now that Jessica is unavailable, Mike suddenly decides _he _likes Jessica and Jessica decides she doesn't like him after all. So while she and her hench-girl Lauren no longer bother me at school, Jessica bothers me in my dreams. She bothers my heart.

And I won't talk to Edward. Worse, he doesn't make me. If anything, he avoids me, and I don't think I've ever felt so low in my life.

**. . .**

**Suicide facts were taken from the jasonfoundation dot com website.**


	14. Retribution

Social Studies is my most-hated class of the day. Jessica sits two seats behind me and doesn't know how to converse in a normal tone of voice. I swear she's only talking this loudly so I'll hear her.

"Ohmigod, I heart him so much. I've always had a crush on him, but I never knew he had one on _me._ Quelle surprise!"

I want to bang my forehead against my desk over and over. No, I want to bang _her _head against her desk over and over. I want to shove her face into an industrial fan. Maybe a cannon. She sounds like a cavewoman who eats her own crap. Way to pick 'em, Edward.

"You are so lucky," hench-girl number two says (Lauren is number one). "He's a total hottie. Where's he taking you Friday?"

Jessica sighs loudly, dreamily. "He said it was a surprise. As long as it ends in the back of his car, that's what I say."

"Oh. My. God, yes."

I feel like I'm being slowly digested over the course of this conversation. They sound like an ad for the local free clinic. If I was talking to Edward, I might warn him, but nope. This one is all on him. Jerk.

I hate that I miss him.

**. . .**

"What's wrong with you?" Jasper asks me at lunch.

I glare at him. "What do you mean, what's _wrong _with me?"

"Real subtle, Jaz," Rose says. "What he _means _is that we've noticed you seem sad lately, like you're down in the dumps. And we want to know why. So spill."

I finish making fork designs in my mashed potatoes and take a bite. They're cold but solid, and I'm hoping they help to fill that hole inside.

"Here." Jasper pushes Sprock across the table. "He's good at giving me courage when I need it."

I finger the sock that means so much to Jasper. Is he ever going to outgrow it?

"It's Edward and Jessica," I tell them. "I don't know what he sees in her. She's changing him and I don't like it."

"Did you tell him?"

I wince. That there is the rub. "We're not exactly on speaking terms at the moment. I can't even look at him without wanting to gag."

"He outgrew Vickie," Rose says. "He'll definitely outgrow Jessica."

"But that's my point," I say. "He shouldn't have to outgrow her at all. He already _knows _she's an airhead with more hair than sense. She's got the personality of a soap dish. And I _hate _her and he _knows _that."

Rose stares at me long and hard.

"What?"

She slams her hand against the table and Jasper and I jump a foot. At the other end of the table, Ben, Angela and Mike stare at us. Well, Mike glares.

"He's taking care of her for you," Rose cries.

"Bullhickey. How is dating and kissing Jessica taking care of me? Did you fall and hit your head this morning?"

"No, don't you see, Bella? Remember when he walked in on us a few weeks ago and got mad because you didn't want to include him in the conversation about Jessica? Reeeeeeemember?"

She's talking to me like I'm an idiot. "Yes, I remember. I was there."

Rose shakes her head and shoves me so hard I almost fall out of my chair. "He's always got your back, Jack! You know how protective he is over you. That's why you didn't want to let him in on the know." She leans forward so we're nose-to-nose. "And that's why he's dating Jessica now. He is going to eff. Her. Up."

My heart leaps. Could it be? Would he really go that far? Ugh. But … would he? And if he is doing that, why is he letting me ignore him? Why is he avoiding me?

Oh.

_Oh._

And suddenly I do feel like an idiot. A _hopeful_ idiot. I even do a chair dance.

"Ohmigod, I think you're right, Rose." I want to kiss her.

She sits back in her chair with a nod. "My work here is done."

Jasper takes Sprock back with a grin. "He always comes through," he says.

**. . .**

That night when Dad comes home, he has Mike Newton with him.

I do a double-take from where I'm sitting at the dining room table doing fractions. Mike's face is a combination of sullen and hangdog. His hands are in his coat pockets and his hair is flat on one side of his head.

What the?

Dad pushes Mike away from the front door. "Mike has something to say to you. Come here."

I'm in a daze as I stand and drift over to them. Mike's looking at my chest like he just can't help himself, so I cross my arms, and his gaze pops up to mine. Now he's blushing.

"Go ahead," Dad tells him sternly. "And you better mean it."

"Bella," Mike begins but has to clear his throat. "Bella, I am very sorry for shoving you into your locker and hurting you, and for touching you when I shouldn't have. I promise it won't happen again."

He sounds genuinely contrite, but his eyes fall to my chest again. Sheesh, my t-shirt is two sizes too big. What is he trying to see?

Dad notices and whacks him on the back of his head. "Don't make me have to lock you up for being a perpetual pervert," he growls. "Eyes above the neck."

"Sorry," Mike chokes.

"You should have been born a dog," I tell him lightly, but I'm not smiling. He's a disgusting pig.

"I don't want to hear about any more fights," Dad tells us. "Next time, I'll throw you into the slammer for 24 hours," he says to Mike.

Mike stiffens and nods.

"Now this is the end of it, you two. Understood?"

"Got it," I say, even though both times were _not _my fault. "Mike's going to pretend I don't exist anymore."

Mike nods again. He looks antsy. And guilty, although he's trying to look innocent now.

"Scram," Dad tells him. "I called your dad. He'll be here any time. You can wait on the porch." And he jerks his head at the door.

Once Mike's on the other side of the door, I throw myself into Dad's arms.

"Thanks, Daddy."

"Sorry it took me so long," he tells me, but it's okay. He's always been kind of slow to react in emotional situations. Mom was the nail. He's the wall.

I smile against his chest. Hopefully this is the last time I have to experience the after-effects of boobgate.

**. . .**

When Edward comes home from work, I have a plate of dinner waiting for him. He looks surprised to see me, then his face goes expressionless.

"What are you doing?" I ask him.

He takes the plate from me and heads towards the basement. "Eating," he snaps. "Thanks."

I glare at the dark hallway he disappeared down. I'm not chasing him. If he doesn't want to talk about what he's doing, fine. And I storm out of the kitchen to the living room. He's lucky I didn't poison his tuna casserole.

"You going upstairs?" Dad drawls. "Or is this a new game I don't know about?"

I blink as I realize I've been standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to the second level of the house. Dad's looking at me with amusement from the couch.

"Ugh," I say and turn back towards the basement. I sound like a rampaging cow as I stomp down the stairs.

Edward turns the TV volume up, so I move to stand in front of the TV with my hands on my hips and my legs spread. I am a capital X and I'm about to deliver a smack-down.

"Do you mind?"

"You know, I've been really hurt by your actions these last few weeks," I begin.

"Bella! _Move._"

I glower back at him. "Make me."

He puts his plate down with a bang and stands.

"Don't you touch me," I say. "I've been pushed around by people one too many times lately. Now I want to know why you're being such a retarded jerk-face."

His hands settle on my upper arms, but his touch is gentle. As soon as he touches me, his face loses some of its stiffness. My hands fall to my sides. When he sees me essentially giving up, he moves me to the side and back to the couch, where we sit.

His gaze at the coffee table is a study of concentration, and his mouth is working like he's speaking without talking. It's like he wants to talk, but doesn't know how to begin.

"Just spit it out," I tell him.

"I can't tell you yet," he says in a rush. "All I'll say is that I'm your side, always, and I'm sorry I've been an asshole lately. I don't like what I'm doing, either, and it's eating away at me. But it's almost done."

"_What's_ almost done? Your assholery?"

He picks up his plate again. "That's one way to look at it."

"Tell me another way."

"Actions have consequences."

"Yeah," I huff. "Tell me about it. I really don't like you right now. I kind of hope you choke on a noodle."

He chokes and laughs. "God, I miss you."

My heart leaps. "It's your own fault."

"I know. Don't you miss me?"

I want to kick him. Hug him. Kick him.

"Not at all," I lie. "My life is full of friends and commitments and homework. Never a dull moment. No time for assholes."

"Good," he says and shovels in another mouthful. "I'm the only asshole I want you to have to deal with."

"And God knows you're more than enough."

"That's right."

After he finishes his dinner, he pulls me against his side. I'm a bit hands-offy because he hasn't explained himself yet, and I'm still hurting deep inside.

He puts his mouth close to my ear. "8 Ball says: Forget about it."

I shove him back. "8 Ball says: Not on your _life_."

He pulls me back. "What has four legs, one foot and one head?"

"You're so lame," I tell him.

"You'll get your answers Friday," he says and gives me a searching look.

I scowl. "Date night. Oo, I can't wait."

"I hate her guts," he says lowly.

"What are you, some kind of a martyr? I don't understand why you're doing this. It's stupid. People are going to get hurt."

"Exactly."

I shake my head at him. Why is he so angry? "_I _got hurt. I don't like it."

"You don't have to be hurt. And you don't have to understand anything but that I love you," he tells me.

"I worry about you, Edward. You take everything so personally."

"When it concerns you, I do," he agrees. "If someone messes with you, they mess with me. It's as simple as that."

"She's not worth it."

"No, but you are."

What can I say to that?

"I do miss you, too," I tell him. "But you've got some making up to do."

"Back rub?"

I lay back against the couch and put my feet in his lap. He hates feet. "Foot rub."

**. . .**

I'm with Rose and Alice at Alice's house Friday night when Edward's plan comes to light on a Facebook post.

_That feeling you get when you realize the girl you're dating is a heartless, two-faced slut who wears too much perfume? That's me right now. _

_Dumping you was the smartest thing I've done all year and I don't even feel bad about how brutal it was. _

_Thanks for lying to me about your sexual cravings. I like girls, too, but not more two or three at a time. Not only did you lie about that, but you also like to betray your so-called friends. _

_You told me Lauren Mallory only pretends to like Erik Turner because she's a lesbian. _

_You told me Bree Tanner likes to eat and barf afterwards. _

_And then you told me Mike Newton has a tiny dick and doesn't know what to do with it. What kind of girl tells their boyfriend about these kind of things?_

_It's over. My mistake for ever thinking you were worth anything._

And he signs it Edward Swan, making it crystal clear who he is talking about.

My head reels. Is it true what he wrote?

"Oh my god," Alice whispers. "Remind me never to piss off Edward."

I can't swallow. This is so mean of him. I never would have thought he'd do something like _this_. It's just … he's … he's … I can't even think. And is it _true_? It better be true, because if he's just made these things up, I'm going to kill him. And maybe never forgive him.

"Edward's the bomb-diggity," Rose says.

"I gotta go," I tell them. "I'll call Edward for a ride."

Rose points at me. "Yeah, get the scoop and fill us in later."

If I'm free, maybe. Dad might have to put me in the slammer.

**. . .**

"All I really want to know," I tell Edward after I climb into the passenger seat, "Is if it's true."

He drives us to the park off of North Lakeshore Road. Once he shuts the car off, he turns to look at me. His eyes are finally apologetic.

"Where do you think I got that information?"

"But why would she even tell you that stuff, Edward?"

His face hardens. "Because she's a bitch. She's mean. She doesn't like _anyone."_

I stare out the windshield and watch the tennis players under the flood lights. "I thought she liked Mike. And you."

"I don't think she knows how to like someone," he says.

"So you thought you'd teach her a lesson."

"That's right."

"That's bullying, you know."

He shrugs. "Call it bullying the bully. She won't be so quick to pick on someone else now."

"Especially not me."

"I held one secret back. If she targets you again, it blows in the wind."

"You're so angry," I whisper. "I can't help thinking that she didn't deserve this. All she did was call me names and tell me to stay away from Mike."

He touches my arm. "Obviously, it's more than that. I've heard you crying. She doesn't care about you or your feelings, Bella. She actually tried to badmouth you to _me._ I mean, what an idiot. She needed a wake-up call and I gave it to her."

I still have this feeling in the pit of my stomach. "But why did it have to be you, Edward?"

He takes my chin in his fingers. "I told you. She hurt you. She messed with you."

"I don't need or want you to do things like this."

"I shouldn't need to do anything like this again," he tells me with a crooked grin.

I move my face away from his hand. "You actually made out with her."

He shudders. "That was the second hardest thing about this whole ordeal."

"What could be worse than _that_?"

"Being away from you."

Our gazes lock and I can't breathe. I feel like I'm falling into him. He's all I see. Then Edward abruptly turns his head away and starts the car.

"Let's go get ice cream," he says, and the feeling is gone.

But what _was_ that?

**. . .**

**Edward's riddle answer for Bella: a bed. I know. **_**Bad**_**. **


	15. Chicken Game

The rest of the year at school is pretty tame, thank God. Mike settles for glaring at me across a distance, and Jessica doesn't want anything to do with me. Whatever secret Edward still has about her, it must be a good one. She won't even let me apologize for what he did to her.

"Get away from me! Don't talk to me. Don't even _look _at me. Please."

Jessica loses Bree as a friend and her popularity drops to zilch. Lauren and her tight sweaters change schools. Mike continues on as if nothing happened. For a week after Edward's post on Facebook, Mike shows up at school in tight jeans to show what a liar Jessica is. I have no idea if he packed a little something extra down there, but it doesn't look like he has a tiny dick. Not that I noticed, other than just the one and only time.

When I tell Edward about his post's repercussions, he's non-committal. But he does say that maybe Dad should have kept Mike locked up longer.

For my part, I resolve to keep my feelings of hurt and anger towards others under better wraps around him. Not that it's necessary. After the Facebook thing, school settles into its regularly scheduled hours of boredom, and I'm more than okay with that.

My last art class of the year with Mr. Meyer is bittersweet. Unbeknownst to him, I asked Jasper to draw Mr. Meyer. Jasper shows only his back in the drawing, but there's no mistaking the slim body and dark hair of our teacher standing at his easel drawing Mickey Mouse. It looks so cool. And then we all sign our names around the sketch and present it to him.

Mr. Meyer has to take off his glasses to wipe at his eyes. And then we're all laughing and I'm pretending I'm not crying, too, because I'm going to miss him.

**. . .**

This summer, I get to learn how to drive. Dad tells Edward he'll help with car payments if Edward shares the car with me.

"That's not fair," Edward says. "You didn't make any car payments for _me._"

"I pay for your insurance. Your food. The gas, the electric, the cable. And you live here for free."

"So does Bella," he says.

Dad puts his hands on his hips. "You get freedoms she doesn't because you're older and a boy. Do you want me to change _that_ so you're both the same?"

"Yes," I say at the same time Edward says no.

When they look at me, I glower at them. "When I'm sixteen-and-a-half, I want to take some boy to dinner and movie in that car!"

Edward grins. "I'm a boy."

"Me, too," Dad says.

They think they're funny.

It turns out driving isn't so easy, though. I have a bad habit of hugging the curb, and almost get us T-boned when I turn left in front of an oncoming car.

"The light was _green!_" I insist.

"You can only turn in front of other cars when there's a green _arrow,_" Dad says at my tears of frustration and anger. All I know is that the light was green. Trickery!

"It's okay," he says to calm us both down. "We're still alive. We weren't hit. We made it."

"I'm gonna fail my test," I say and put my head on the steering wheel.

His hand comes to rest on my shoulder. "No you won't. You can parallel park like no one's business."

I have to laugh because that's where most of my time has been spent—trying to learn how to park. I was horrible at it, so he made me do it again and again. I can't drive straight in a through-lane, but I can probably out-park the average driver.

"I want a Smart car," I tell him.

"Dream on," he answers. "If I ever find you in one of those cars, I'll tan your hide."

"But, Dad," I wail. "Small cars do better in a collision than an SUV. I saw a YouTube video about it."

"You're getting a truck," he tells me. "A big one."

"Noooooo."

"Drive."

**. . .**

Edward isn't thrilled about sharing the car with me, but he keeps his grumbling mostly silent.

"This place is somewhere you can go really fast riding inside of it," he says. "What am I?"

I give him a look. "_Duh."_

"So we're going to the store," he says.

I tell him what we're supposed to get. "Milk, bread, bologna, cookies."

"And Coke. So do you know where we're going?"

"Are you being retarded?"

"You're at the wheel, Bella. There's a big difference from being the driver than being the passenger."

I roll my eyes and start the car.

"Did you check your side mirror?"

"Yes, Edward."

"Seatbelt on?"

"Yes, Edward."

"I like this. _Yes, Edward_."

"I'm going now."

"Okay. Let's go."

I'm nervous about backing out of the driveway, so we go at a snail's pace.

"I want to get back in time for dinner," he tells me.

"Shut up. You're supposed to be supportive."

"I'm supportive of making it back home for dinner."

"Since I'm cooking it, you're just going to have to suffer with me."

"Suffer is right."

I brake hard and our heads hit the head rests.

"Edward!"

He laughs. "Sorry. Can't help it. I'll shut up now."

"That would be good."

I don't park straight in the parking lot space, but it's good enough for Edward, so we continue our journey into Ralph's. I grab a push cart, and Edward makes a sound of disapproval.

"We're only getting a few things," he tells me and grabs a hand cart.

"I thought you said _I _was in charge here."

"In the car, you are," he answers and heads for the deli section.

I sigh and follow him, wishing I'd asked him to stay in the dang car.

At the check-out is a young girl with twin gold braids. She can barely pay attention to what she's doing because her big blue eyes are trained on Edward. He smiles at her, then turns to grin all evil-like at me.

As the bologna rolls up to the register, I plunk a couple of Hershey's candy bars on the belt.

"You know just what I like, woman," Edward says and slaps my butt. I stumble and yelp and the girl giggles. My face goes instantly hot.

"He's always got his hands on my butt," I tell her and her smile fades.

Then _I_ giggle.

"You killed her crush," he tells me on the way out.

"You killed my butt," I say. "It still stings a bit."

He looks goofy with that big grin on his face. "Want me to rub it all better?"

I feel evil, too. "Please." And I stop and turn my back to him because I'm calling his bluff.

When he hesitates, I look over my shoulder at him. He's got the bags in one of his hands and the other is just sort of hanging there.

"I can't. Not here."

I burst out laughing. "You mean if we weren't here, you'd actually rub my butt?"

He shrugs and gives me one of his killer grins. "Maybe."

And my face goes red hot again.

**. . .**

"You've got the cutest little figure," Alice tells me. It's late afternoon on a Sunday, and so she, Rose and I are catching a few rays.

"I do?" And I look down at my somewhat-tan body in the dark blue bikini with the white lace trim. It's the prettiest one I've ever owned, certainly the most daring one.

"You do," she says. "Your hips curve just so, and your boobs are the perfect size for your body. High and perky. I'm jealous."

Rose wiggles her eyebrows. "Is there something we should know, Alice?"

Alice has the body of a runner, all toned and … she's still really flat. But she looks good in the red baby doll tankini she's wearing. I think it's flirty. If Jasper was here, he'd probably fall to his knees. Jasper has a crush on Alice. I'm not sure when it developed, but it's a serious case of puppy love. Alice is not thrilled.

"Now don't get jealous, I'm in love with your boobs, too," Alice tells Rose, who's wearing a daring, shiny dark silver string bikini.

"These are for Emmett," Rose says and fondles them. My mouth pops open and Rose laughs at me.

"You and Emmett? When did this happen?"

Rose lays back on her chair. Alice and I sit on mine sideways and face Rose.

"It hasn't happened yet," she says with a sigh. "But when he sees me in this, I predict great things are going to happen."

She's probably right. She looks like a bikini model with her long blond hair and tanned skin. Rose is probably the prettiest girl I've ever seen. How could Emmett resist?

"Emily has some competition," Alice drawls and I gasp.

"You didn't!" Rose points her finger at her. "Emmett wins hands-down, and you know it."

"Yeah, but I've seen the way you look at Emily sometimes, girlfriend. She's gonna get you yet."

"She is _not._ I'm not interested in girls."

"It's okay to be bi. You're young. You've got time to figure it out," Alice tells her like Alice is some kind of expert, so we crack up.

Emily's had a crush on Rose forever. I'm not sure what Alice means by Rose looking back at Emily, but whatever. She's with Sam now, so why would she look at Rose?

We're in the middle of a discussion about Seth and how he's steadily dating some Korean girl when the boys show up. They're unexpected. I thought that Emmett was at work, and Edward was home sleeping.

They're all eyes as they take us in. Granted, we haven't spent much time together at the pool this summer, but geeze. We haven't changed _that _much.

Or, wait. Maybe the boys are looking at Rose. That would make sense.

"Movie night!" Emmett yells. "Let's go see _American Sniper_."

"I heard it's a tear-jerker," Alice says.

"So? Bring Kleenex."

"It's rated R. We'd have to bring my dad," I told him with a laugh.

"Damn. So let's stay here and watch an R rated movie instead."

Rose stands and walks over to Emmett. "Why don't you go put your swimsuit on and join us? Let's play … chicken."

Emmett seems bemused. "Okay." He pulls his t-shirt over his head, then drops his hands to the button on his shorts.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Edward says. "What is this, a strip tease?"

"You next, Eddie," Alice says and claps her hands.

Jasper, who still has yet to grow like his friends, looks ashamed and bashful.

"No strip teasing, please," I say and hop into the water.

Later, we're assembling into teams of two.

"Me and Alice against Edward and Bella," Emmett says.

"No," Edward says. "Jasper and Alice against me and Bella. The winners will face off against you and Rose."

I would feel weird about climbing on Edward's back. For some reason, I don't want my boobs to touch his back. But he solves the problem by telling me to hook my legs over his shoulders, and then dips down under the water.

Now my crotch is against his upper back. That's not much better, but at least we're in water with friends and there's stuff going on.

"Two minutes, you guys," Emmett says. "First one to fall loses. Ready, set, go!"

Jasper is shorter than Edward, but Alice is taller than me. Plus, I think she's stronger. No, as her fingers squeeze and bend mine, I _know _she's stronger than me. But the fight is lost for them when Jasper loses his balance because Alice is too far forward.

I try to slip off of Edward's shoulders, but he won't let me go.

"Just stay up there," he says.

"Won't you get tired?" I ask.

"I'm good," he says and drops under the water to my neck. He walks slowly across the pool bottom and bounces me against his back. Little tingles shoot through my body.

What the?

I squirm off of him and swim for the side of the pool. I pretend I have a leg cramp.

"Oh, come on, Bella," Rose grumbles.

"You'd beat me anyway," I tell her.

Edward just looks at me.

Later we're ready to watch _Annabelle_ and eat pizza. I make sure I sit beside Rose, but have to move when she wants Emmett to sit there. Jasper shakes his head slightly at me when I approach Alice and the love seat, and I sigh in defeat. So I'm sitting beside Edward in the other love seat when the movie begins.

He nudges me and gives me a questioning look. "Why do I get the feeling you're avoiding me?" he asks lowly.

I sit my glass of Coke down on the floor between my feet. "I see you all the time at home. I wanted to sit with one of the girls."

He laughs. "But Rose wants to sit with Emmett, and Jasper wants to sit with Alice. Poor Bella, stuck with me instead."

"Oh, shut up and pass me a slice of pizza."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him watching me as a string of cheese hangs between me and my pizza. I have to pinch it off with my fingers and coil the string into my mouth.

And he's still looking.

And the movie's starting.

I turn and give him a look, and his gaze swings to the TV.

Weird.

The worst thing about a scary movie is how the people in it always seem to do the exact opposite thing someone who'd be concerned about actually surviving would do. The second worst thing is the sudden bam of music, which jolts my body into hyper drive. Before I know it, I've got my arms wrapped tightly around one of Edward's.

He's stiff at first, but relaxes when he realizes I'm not going to let go.

"Your boob is against my arm," he whispers.

I release him instantly. He laughs and pulls me back.

"Don't. I liked it."

I don't hear one word from the rest of the movie.

When it's time to go home, I'm afraid to be alone with Edward in the car, so I say I'm going to spend the night with Alice.

"No, you're not," Edward tells me. "Let's go." And he hooks my arm and drags me up the stairs.

"Dad would let me stay," I say and try to drag my feet. "All I have to do is call him."

"It's almost eleven. He's in bed. You should have asked earlier."

Ugh!

"You're not the boss of me," I say at the car.

He shoves me gently into the passenger seat. "Yes, I am."

And when he's at the wheel: "No, you're not."

He grabs my wrist and pulls me to him. "Yes, I am," he whispers against my cheek.

**. . .**

**Did I leave it there? Oh yes! Yes, I did! **

**Consider this a form of blackmail. The number of comments I get will determine whether I post the next chapter on Tuesday or Friday. **

**Your choice, lurkers! Show me some support. Hit that review button. It's right there.**

**Edward's riddle answer question for Bella, just in case you didn't get it: a car.**


	16. First Kiss

After the night Edward drives us home, he kind of gives me space. He's not avoiding me, but he's not pressing to spend time with me, either. And I'm pathetically grateful, because everything inside of me is all out of whack. As I'd followed him up the stairs to our bedrooms, my legs were like jelly, all wobbly. But he'd just turned at his door and gave me a beautiful smile that made me feel like I had a horde of butterflies in my stomach, then left me staring at his closed door.

I had vivid dreams that night, dreams that starred Edward as a kind of alien presence. I knew him, but I didn't. His face, his smile, his body—those were the same. But his eyes, his voice and his touch—what he did with them, what they did to me—those were what woke me up, sweating and gasping and tingling.

And I couldn't help but wonder if he was feeling those same tingly feelings I was. Did he know what they were? I couldn't ask, I was too embarrassed. Maybe I was imagining the whole thing, the long stares, the touching?

Maybe.

No.

Was he as confused as I was? I wished, oh how I wished I could talk to him about it, but I didn't see how I could. Maybe this tingling thing was supposed to happen, maybe it was normal. And maybe it wasn't. Maybe there was something horribly wrong with me, something that I wouldn't want to speak of because I'd be sent to the loony bin.

I did a lot of pillow screaming that week.

**. . .**

As soon as the thought occurred to me, I blurted it out to Rose before my brain could catch up. "Would you mind if Emmett taught me how to kiss?"

Rose and Alice both sat up in their patio chairs to look at me as I covered my face with my hands.

"Say what?" Alice asks.

Crap! Why had I said _that?_

"He hasn't even kissed _me_ yet," Rose says.

I lowered my hands. Time to own up to this idea. Oh, Great Googly-Moogly, give me courage.

"Uh, well, I'm turning sixteen this year … and I _have _to be kissed before I turn sixteen, you know? I don't want to be sweet sixteen and never been kissed, do you?"

She huffs. "I'm _not. _Riley's kissed me lots of times. But _I_ haven't even kissed Emmett yet, Bella."

I groan and put my face back into my hands. I knew this was a bad idea. "You can go first," I say hopefully, my voice coming out muffled.

"Why does it have to be Emmett?"

"Who else am I going to ask? Emmett knows I don't feel _that _way about him, so I figure we'll just kiss and things will go back to normal."

"What about Jasper?"

"Jasper hasn't kissed anyone. Me even asking him would rock his world, and not in a good way. I don't think even Sprock could save him from dying of embarrassment."

"But … Emmett?" Alice asks. "Ewwww."

"Emmett knows what he's doing—he's kissed lots of girls. I want someone who knows what they're doing. I don't want my first kiss to be a disaster."

"Why not? Most first kisses are," Alice says.

I spin to face her. "Have _you _been kissed?"

She squirms and studies the freckles on her arms. "Once. It was awful. His breath stank, his mouth was too wet, and our noses kept bumping."

"Sounds like a first kiss dream come true," Rose sang.

"No, it _doesn't_," I tell her, even though I know she's being sarcastic. "Well? What do you think? I can't be the only one of us who turns sixteen and hasn't been kissed."

Rose considers me through slitted eyes. I know I'm asking for a lot—after all, she likes Emmett. But she also knows Emmett and I do not have the hots for each other, and so there will be no hurt feelings or confusion over who he should like just because of a kiss.

"Please? Just one little eensy-weensy kiss?"

"You owe me," she says.

"I will. I do."

She settles back in her chair and crosses her arms. "I'll ask him tonight and let you know what he says."

I let out a sigh of relief. "Deal. But there's one thing … please ask Emmett _not _to tell Edward about this."

Rose and Alice break out in laughter.

"What?" I ask.

"If Emmett says no, that'll be why, you know," Rose says to us. "Nobody wants Edward mad at them."

"He won't get mad," I say. "I just … it's none of his business. So ask Emmett to keep quiet about it, okay?"

"This is so weird," Alice says. "And disgusting. I wish I hadn't heard this conversation."

I lean over to her chair. "Don't worry. We won't tell you when the action is going down."

"Shut _up._"

**. . .**

It takes some convincing by Rose, which hurts my feelings, but eventually Emmett agrees to meet us at her house Thursday at noon. It's his lunch break, so he has to make it quick.

We're in the bathroom brushing our teeth and primping at 11:45.

"You're going first," Rose says. "And I'm timing you, chicky."

"How muth time I got?" I ask with toothpaste in my mouth. My first kiss is going to be minty fresh.

"Two minutes," she says. "No, less than two minutes. If you kiss him for two whole minutes, I will kick your ass."

I spit out the paste and snicker. "How could I ever kiss someone for two minutes?" That long kissing stuff only happens in the movies. I couldn't understand wanting to press my mouth against someone else's for more than it took to peck them.

Rose pats my back. "You are so naïve."

Which burns. I don't want to be naïve anymore. Once I'm kissed, I won't be.

Emmett shows up wearing a stock boy's blue apron and an infectious grin. "Okay, which one of you princesses is first? Let's get this kissing show started."

"I'm first," I say.

"I'll make you a sandwich," Rose says. And then she stands in the doorway looking at us.

"Are you going to watch?" I ask her.

Yikes, please don't let her watch.

She starts. "Oh. No." And she flees.

Emmett leads me to the couch as Rose starts slamming drawers and cabinets in the kitchen.

"Are we French-kissing?" he asks me.

My eyes get big. "No. Let's keep our tongues to ourselves."

He chuckles, then scoots close to me so our knees are intertwined. Whoa. I've never been this close to a boy before, except for Edward.

"Close your eyes," he says.

"But I want to see," I say.

"You want to watch me come at your face? You'll go cross-eyed."

I close my eyes. Lick my lips. Purse them. Then open my eyes to find him watching me with a look of glee on his face.

"You're supposed to be kissing me now," I say.

"Stop being so funny then."

"I'm not—"

He pulls me to him mid-word and presses his mouth semi-gently against mine. My nose scrapes his whiskery cheek. I feel the sensation of warm breath and moist lips. It's soft. His mouth is soft, I didn't know it would be so soft. It's nice, except I'm afraid to breathe.

I pull back. "How am I supposed to breathe?"

"You just breathe like normal," he tells me. "Try again."

We cock our heads in opposite directions and push our mouths together again. And again, I'm surprised by the touch of his lips, and I inhale deeply. I press harder against his mouth like he does mine, and I exhale. Our lips kind of drag against each other, and I inhale again.

Then I pull back. "Okay. Okay."

Rose is standing in the doorway with a funny look on her face and a plate in her hand.

"So that's kissing," I say.

Emmett smirks. "What we just did is the mechanics of kissing. That's all."

"Well, what else is there?"

"There's lust," he says emphatically. "Passion! It's like what we just did times a hundred."

"I don't get it," I say.

He rubs my knee, then squeezes it and makes me jump. "Oh, you will, grasshopper. One day, you will."

Am I defective?

When it's Rose's turn, I sneak a peek around the kitchen door frame and _ohmigod!_ Emmett is lying on top of her on the couch. She's got her hands in his hair. And they're squirming and shifting and moaning.

I must make a sound because they break apart abruptly. And they're all red-faced and breathless and look like they've been yanked out of a dream.

"Now that's working up an appetite," Emmett says and grabs the sandwich off the coffee table.

**. . .**

I watch _Never Been Kissed _in the basement that night to try and understand what I'm missing. When Josie gets to the part where she's describing the perfect kiss, I repeat the scene over and over.

_That thing, that moment, when you kiss someone and everything around you goes hazy and the only thing in focus is you and this person, and you realize that that person is the only person you're supposed to kiss for the rest of your life, and for one moment you get this amazing gift, and you want to laugh and you want to cry because you feel so lucky that you found it, and so scared that it will go away all at the same time. _

And I'm sitting there on the couch trying to understand what it means, and everything goes hazy as my brain shuts down, and I want to laugh and I want to cry because what if I never find that gift she's talking about?

I don't get it.

"What don't you get?"

I jump at Edward's voice. He's standing at the end of the couch looking at me with a grin on his face.

"Did I say that out loud?"

"Yeah. So what don't you get?" And he sits at the other end in such a way that he's giving me his full attention.

Ah. Uh-oh.

How do I even begin to explain this?

"Nothing."

His eyes flick to the TV and back to me. "What, kissing?"

My shoulders slump. This is going to be so embarrassing. "Not just _kissing. _A great kiss, a gift of a kiss, the kind that … er … makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time."

He's laughing before I even finish.

I bite the bullet. "Have you ever kissed someone and wanted to laugh and cry afterwards?"

Edward tilts his head back and scratches his chin. "Ummmmm. _No."_

"Well, according to Josie Geller, you haven't found the only person you're meant to kiss for the rest of your life," I tell him.

He shudders. "I hope not. Who wants to be stuck kissing just one person for the rest of their life?"

I point to the TV. "Josie Geller. Here, let me play it for you."

And I play him the scene. He watches it with his lips all twisted and with skepticism heavy in his eyes.

"That's a bunch of crap," he tells me afterward. "Something some woman made up."

"It's not true?"

"Hell no. Kissing is just … kissing."

Disappointing, but at least I can understand _that. _"Got that right," I say dryly.

Which is a mistake and I want to eat my words as soon as the last vowel falls.

"What do you know about it?" His eyes are sharp and dark and unrelenting as he looks at me.

I backpedal fast. "Not as much as you. Hardly anything, really."

"But you know enough to have an opinion."

I shrug. "Well, yeah. Doesn't everyone?"

He snorts. "Not unless you've been kissed." And then, "Have you been kissed?"

My face is red. Can I count Emmett's kiss as a real kiss since I didn't feel anything?

"Just … a little."

"Just … a little? What does that mean? Have you been kissed or not? It's a yes or a no question, Bella."

"Uh. Can we talk about something else?"

"No."

"Ugh. Okay. Yes, I've been kissed. But I don't think it counts because I didn't feel much of anything."

He leans closer to me and my red face. I'm starting to sweat. "What did you think you'd feel?"

I don't know. "That … _thing._"

"What thing?"

"Passion. Lust. The hazy gift."

He's cracking up.

"It's not funny, Edward."

His laughs finally die down. "So who kissed you?"

"Um, no one."

"Really."

"No one you know," I correct myself.

"And it wasn't a good one?"

Gah, why does he want to know this? "Not really."

"Why? Did his breath stink? Did he slobber all over you? Try to stick his tongue in your mouth?"

"No. No! It was an experiment. Plus, I don't want to turn sixteen without being kissed."

"Hah, hah, hah!"

He's all but rolling on the floor now. I stand and head for the stairs, but he reaches out and grabs my arm, then pulls me back on to the couch beside him. It takes a while, again, for his laughter to die down. I try to cross my arms, but he won't let go and his arm mashes my boob.

"Ow!"

"I'm sorry," he breathes between chuckles. "I'm sorry."

"Glad I could entertain you," I growl. I hate feeling like a little girl next to him. "So how old were _you _when you got your first kiss?"

"Fourteen."

I gape at him.

"Veronica Ross."

"Gross! She was in high school, Edward!"

He shrugs. "She kissed _me_."

"So … you've kissed a lot of girls then?"

He shrugs again.

"And you like it?"

He grins at me. "Yeah, I like it a lot. Didn't you?"

"I just basically explained why I didn't. So … girls like it when you kiss them?"

He rolls his eyes at me.

"Do they moan and grab your hair?"

"You've been watching too much TV," he says.

"Is that a no?"

Suddenly, he tackles me and pushes me onto my back for a tickle attack.

"Do you want references?" he asks as he digs his fingers into my waist.

I try to buck him off of me and he falls against my chest. And then we still, gasping and just looking at each other.

"Do you want me to kiss you?" he asks.

My heartbeat starts ripping through my whole body. Do I want him … to … kiss … me?

I'm frozen. I can't speak. I can't even move, except for my eyes, which drop to his mouth. Edward has a good mouth, wide and full. As I stare at it, my own mouth begins to water and I have to swallow. In the silence of the room, it's loud.

He doesn't ask again, just looks down at me. When it seems that I'm not going to answer, he begins to back away.

"Yes," I gulp. "A fast one. Okay?"

"A fast one? What if I don't do fast ones?"

"It has to be a fast one, or I think I'll die."

He grins, then it slowly fades as his eyes drop to my mouth, and I'm suddenly very conscious of my mouth. It's hanging open and my lips are dry. Maybe I should lick them. When I do, I see his eyes get darker.

"I'm just going to touch your lips with mine," he says. "Just a little." His eyes flicker between mine and my mouth, as if to gauge my response.

He doesn't close his eyes until he lets his nose touch mine in an unexpected gentle caress. And then my eyes close as his lips come softly, gently against mine. Heat immediately fills my body from the inside out like a giant wave so powerful that I gasp at it. Edward's mouth raises from mine as he gasps back, and then his lips are slanting across mine harder, hotter, and his tongue is sweeping across my bottom lip. In surprise, I wrench my mouth away and his lips move to my cheek.

"It's okay," he whispers. "I won't put it in your mouth."

His chest is warm and hard against the palm of my hands, and my fingers curl into his shirt as he turns my mouth back to his and presses his lips against me again.

"Fast," I whimper against his mouth.

He cups the back of my head in one of his hands and tilts my face one way, then the other as he drags his mouth back and forth against mine, and it's too much, it's too much, and I push him away with a cry.

Both of our chests are heaving, but Edward recovers much faster than I do.

"So," he says with a cocky grin. "How did that kiss compare to the other one?"

Is he kidding? "I think you know," I say. "You about singed my hair off."

He pushes himself up. "I think you electrocuted mine," he says and grabs at the wild waves on top of his head.

I giggle. He does look like he's been electrocuted. And as I watch him leave, I think he's walking like he was, too.

**. . .**

**Kissing burns 6.4 calories a minute. Between the two of them, they just burned 20.**

**Quite a difference between Emmett's and Edward's kisses. What did you think?**


	17. Tease

If I could change one thing about myself, it would be to knock it off with all of the inconvenient blushing. People take too much pleasure out of making my face turn red. Even worse, it's not something I can hide, so once a faint tinge of pink colors my cheek and someone notices, my face then goes fire engine red.

God, I hate it.

Edward is the worst. He's always gotten a kick out of tormenting me, but he seems to have upped the ante lately. If he's not joking about kissing, he's giving me a soft-eyed look that makes me think maybe he wouldn't mind kissing me again. And if he's not giving me those looks that make my breathing go funky, he's touching me—like if he has to pass behind me, he'll sweep his fingers across my bare arm. Stuff like that.

Things have changed since The Kiss. Before TK, Edward could touch me and it'd feel like it always had—warm and comfortable. But now, it's like I am hyper-aware of where he is in relation to my body. And if he touches me, I get goose bumps. Which he notices. And which, of course, makes me blush.

It's the end of August and I'm in the kitchen peeling potatoes. The ree-ah bugs are going crazy outside and it makes me sad because when they start to sing, that means summer is almost over.

"What are you making?"

Edward's behind me, close enough that I feel his warmth.

"Shepherd's Pie," I say and damn near shave off the skin of my thumb.

"Be careful," he says and leans against the counter next to me.

"Do you want to help?"

He wrinkles his nose. There's a scattering of light freckles across the bridge that makes him look boyish.

"Then you can't stand there," I tell him.

"You mean I can stand here if I help?"

I sigh. "You see that cutting board right there?"

"Right here? This one?" he asks and points to the cutting board with a big cheesy grin.

"You can quarter the potatoes I've peeled and drop them in that pan for me."

He makes short work of them, then is arm-to-arm with me again. "Now what?"

"Want to chop an onion?"

"Okay, but if you tell anyone I cry, I'll spank you," he says and watches my face flame.

"You suck," I say.

"Sorry," he laughs and leans in to press a kiss on my hot cheek.

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not."

"I thought you had to work."

"I called out today."

"Where've you been all day then?"

He backs away to get the onion out of the fridge. "At Charlotte's."

My mood sours abruptly. Charlotte, a short redhead, is Edward's latest girlfriend. She's nice enough, but I don't know. I don't like her. Especially now that Edward is sluffing off of work to spend time with her.

I'm on the last potato when it happens—I slice a sliver of skin neatly off my thumb.

_Yuck._

"Fuck!"

"Whoa, such language," he sniffs. When he sees I'm hurt, he puts the knife down and comes to me.

"Don't touch me with your onion stained fingers! It'll burn! Ow!"

He cups my hurt hand in his and holds it under the water while we watch it bleed. His chest is practically leaning against my back and I want to shove him away. I'm mad.

"I'm okay, I'm fine," I say and move to the paper towels. "I'll be right back."

He follows me all the way to the bathroom. When I try to shut the door, he pushes his hand against it. "What are you doing?"

"What are _you _doing?" I ask.

"I'm going to clean and bandage your cut."

"I can do it myself."

"Let me do it, Bella."

I huff and slump onto the toilet seat.

"What's wrong?" he asks as he sets the peroxide and box of Band-Aids on the counter.

His face is all concerned, green eyes all dark, brow all furrowed. He's one of the few people I know who looks cute when he's sad, mad or bored.

I hold my thumb up in answer. It's not the entire truth, but I don't understand the entire truth enough to begin to explain it.

Edward treats my cut with the tender precision of a concerned nurse, then places a kiss just below the Band-Aid when he's done. My breath catches, but I don't blush this time. Probably because I'm mad? Whatever the reason, I'm grateful.

"You're welcome," he calls after me.

I turn at the doorway and see he's still kneeling in front of the toilet. And then? I flush, but this time it's with embarrassment at my behavior.

"Thank you, Edward. Really."

And then I hightail it back to the kitchen, hoping he doesn't follow. When he doesn't, I tell myself that I'm glad.

**. . .**

I watch Rose study herself in her full length mirror as she turns from side to side to see how her butt looks in the jean mini skirt. Looks damn good. I'm jealous.

"You ready for tomorrow?" she asks me.

"Not at all," I tell her and point to the huge zit on my chin. Maybe I should wear a mini skirt tomorrow, too, so people won't notice my chin. "People are going to take one look at me and run the opposite direction."

"It's not that big. Shut it. You're beautiful."

"You don't think the zit makes me look fat?"

She rips a pillow off the bed and clobbers me with it.

"You've got classes either with me or Jasper," she says. "You're set, biatch."

I shove my hair off of my face from the pillow smack, and glare at her. "Can I wear your dark blue top with the ruffled collar?"

"Depends what you're going to wear with it."

"My black mini?"

She smirks. "Now you're talking. Who are you wanting to impress?"

I shrug. "Anyone who might look too close, I guess."

"Wear your black booties. If you wear your Converse, I'll rip the shirt right off your back."

The next day, _Edward_ looks like he wants to rip the shirt right off my back.

"Who are you dressing up for?" he wants to know.

"No one. Me. It's my first day at high school. Me and my zit, anyway."

I won't shut up about the zit. Good thing I hardly ever get them.

He glares at my bare knees after I slide in to the passenger side of the car.

"_What?"_

Surprised at my sharp tone, he blinks at me. "You don't usually wear miniskirts."

"That's right. But I'm wearing one today. I'm hoping people will notice my legs and not my zit, okay?"

He snickers. "I've had a lot worse than that little thing."

"Yeah, but you're a boy. It's different for boys."

"Don't bend over," he tells me as he backs the car out of the driveway.

"Yeah, I won't bend over like Jessica or Vickie always did," I snort.

He gives me a sharp look. "You'd better not."

"I'm not stupid, Edward. I'm also not a slut."

"Did Dad see what you're wearing?"

Now I'm getting pissed. "Did Dad see what _you're _wearing?" I glance exaggeratedly at his old, torn t-shirt and baggy jeans.

Edward clenches his jaw and is silent until we get to Jasper's house, which suits me just fine. If this is the way he's going to be every morning on the drive to school, I'll just hitch a ride with Emmett, Alice and Rose.

"Hey, Jasper," I say and slide out of the passenger seat. "I'll sit in the back."

"You don't have to," he says.

"I want to. You sit in the front."

"Okay, thanks."

And I glare back at Edward through the review mirror.

Jasper turns and gives me a questioning look.

"Edward's got gas," I say.

**. . .**

Throughout the day, I notice that I get a lot of looks directed at my legs. My plan works! No one is really looking at my face.

Well, except for this James guy in my English class. He's got long blond hair, which is kind of weird for a guy, but pretty eyes. Every time I caught him looking at me, he'd drop his head and act like he was doing something else.

"He's cute," Rose said when she noticed him looking at me.

"If you like long hippie hair," I say. Privately, I agree, though. He is cute.

I hope he's actually looking at me and not my zit.

**. . .**

My last period of the day is history, which I have with Jasper. Our teacher is a kind-looking, silver-haired man who likes to teach behind his desk and sitting in his chair. As his voice drones monotonously on, I chance a glance over at Jasper. He rolls his eyes at me, then has Sprock peek around his free arm. He makes the sock contort and act like he's dying.

And this is just our first class, which doesn't bode well for the year.

"Maybe we should see if we can change classes," Jasper says afterward.

And so we stop in at the office to see Mrs. Cope, who looks decidedly grumpy behind the glasses that are sliding down her nose. She has a picture of an o-possum on her desk. When she sees me looking at it, she perks up.

"That's Possy," she says. "He's dead now, poor thing died right on my foot one night. He liked Cheetos of all things."

Jasper and I look at each other with glee in our eyes. "Wow. Cheetos."

"That's right. He wouldn't eat the cat food I left for him if I had Cheetos."

"Cheetos are really good," Jasper says.

"Um, we need to see if we can change to a different history class," I say.

We slide our class schedules over to her and she starts typing on her keyboard and glaring at her computer screen.

"Ah … this might wor—doggonit. Maybe we can—well, phooey. Let's see if this—oh, drat, that won't work, either." She peers up at us myopically. "Do either of you kids want to take French instead of Art?"

Jasper and I settle for Mr. Robertson the Droner.

"How come we didn't sit with Edward at lunch?" he asks as we walk to the car.

"You saw all those girls at his table, right?"

He grins. "Yes. So? Why?"

"I didn't feel like eating with his harem."

"You two are fighting, aren't you?"

"No. We just have a difference of opinion on appropriate school attire," I say loftily, which makes Jasper laugh.

"But Edward's part of the cool clique. Don't you want to sit with the cool kids?"

"_No._ You, me and Rose will have our own table. Emmett and Edward can have theirs."

Jasper makes a face at me. "I don't think Rose is going to go for that."

"I don't care. I don't want to sit with Edward this year. You can, though, if you want to. Really, Jasper."

"I'd rather sit with you," he says as we near the car where Edward's already waiting.

"Good," I whisper with a smile.

"Where were you two?" Edward looks cranky.

"We were trying to see if we could change history classes," I tell him.

"Well next time, text me if you're going to be late, okay?"

"Sure. Sorry."

We climb into the car. Jasper makes sure I get in front.

"Who'd you get for history?"

"Robertson," Jasper says. "He's like, got one foot out the door, I think."

Edward barks a laugh. "Oh, man, I feel for you two. His class is the only one I've ever fallen asleep in."

Right then and there, I decide I'm going to have a Mountain Dew with every lunch.

**. . .**

Edward knocks on my bedroom door and immediately pushes it open. I'm on my bed reading my first reading requirement in English: Romeo and Juliet. It's absolutely horrible.

"You can't just barge in here," I tell him. "What if I'd been undressing or something?"

In answer, he just looks evilly joyful.

"No. You wait for me to tell you that it's okay."

He waves his hand at me. "Fine. I know what you look like, though. It's not like your bathing suit this year left anything to the imagination."

"Most bathing suits don't," I tell him. "Are we going to argue about what I'm wearing again?"

"No. I came to see how your first day went," he says and lays on his stomach beside me. He even raises his legs and hooks an ankle around mine.

"It went fine. I'm really glad that I have either Rose or Jasper in all of my classes, though. There are a lot more people I don't know now."

His ankle pulls mine in his direction, then moves it back. "I saw you at lunch."

"Yeah? I saw you, too."

"I thought you'd eat with me like you used to."

"Didn't look like there was room."

"There's always room for you, Bella."

"Most brothers wouldn't want their sister eating at the same table as them."

"I'm not most brothers. But I get it. You should have your friends, and I should have mine."

Why does this hurt?

"Right," I say. "So why wasn't Charlotte at your lunch table?"

He pokes me in the side. "She has a different lunch period."

"Does she know you eat with all of those girls?"

He pokes me in the side again. "They weren't _all _girls. And I can eat lunch with whoever I want. So can she. They're just friends."

"I saw two of the girls hanging on you like they wanted to be more."

When he pokes my side again, I grab his finger hard. "Stop."

We wrestle a little, which ends up with me being on the bottom and him sitting on my stomach.

"Are you spying on me?"

I give him a look. "Why _yes,_ Edward, since I have nothing else to do with my time. After all, I'm looking for tips on how to handle friends who want to be more than friends. Do you have any advice for me?"

"Oh, I have some advice for you," he says and stretches my arms high above my head.

This position brings him almost chest-to-stomach with me, which of course trips my heart into overdrive. Not thinking, just panicking, I try to buck him off like I usually do. Once my boobs press against his stomach, he pushes himself down against me. And then he slides down until we're chest-and-chest and face-to-face.

My eyes are wide. Probably wild, too, just like his. We're like two deer caught in each other's headlights.

"Why did you do that?" he whispers.

"Panicked. Why did you do _this_?"

"Couldn't help it."

His eyes are getting darker and darker.

"Aren't you going to move?"

He slowly shakes his head, then lowers it until his lips are against mine. It's been four weeks and three days since the last kiss, but I can tell that I've already forgotten the power of the hot, sweet sensation of it because it takes me by surprise all over again. It must take him by surprise, too, because he's gasping and breathing as hard as I am. He releases my hands and brings one of his to my face, where he begins stroking the corner of my mouth with his thumb, until he's able to insert the tip between my lips. On my next gasp, his tongue lightly teases the inside of my lower lip.

"Let me," he says brokenly and takes my lower lip between his teeth, then sucks it gently.

I make a sound suspiciously like a moan and try to imitate his sucking motion. And then we're open-kissing, not exactly French-kissing, but the closest thing to it. He alternates thumb stroking with lip stroking, and it's like he's worshiping my mouth. And I'm definitely worshiping his because he obviously knows what he's doing, and I'm lost and spinning and so hot.

"Edward," I gasp.

"So sweet," he says and on the next wet press of his lips against mine, his tongue sweeps into my mouth fully.

"Yes, just like that," he whispers as our tongues touch. "Don't be shy."

There's something hard poking my hip. He's _hard. _Every time he sweeps his tongue into my mouth, he presses that hardness against me until I can't bear it anymore. My hands pull his head away from me by his hair.

"Edward," I gasp. "You're hurting me."

In the space of two seconds, he goes from looking half-asleep and sexy to panic. He rolls off of me and onto his stomach, where he pants face-down against my bedspread.

"Are you okay?" I ask softly.

He groans. "Are you?"

"Yes." I swallow and take a big breath. "I can see why the girls like kissing you."

He lifts his head to glare at me. "You're too easy to kiss."

I frown at him. "What does that mean?"

He groans again and then shoves himself off my bed. "Damn it. I didn't mean to do that."

I look up at him in confusion, but he turns his back to me. "But I liked it. I don't mind."

It looks like he palms his crotch and my eyes widen. What's he doing?

"This won't happen again," he tells me over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Bella."

And then he leaves.

And doesn't come back all night.

**. . .**

**Still with me?**


	18. Hot n Cold

Edward flatly refuses to discuss the kiss. In fact, I think he does everything he can to avoid me in the weeks that follow. When he's not at work or out with God knows who (Charlotte is history now), he's at his fencing club. He doesn't even hang out in the basement anymore because he's hardly ever home.

At first, I'm hurt and confused. I know that brothers and sisters aren't supposed to kiss like we did, but it didn't feel wrong or bad to me. Plus, we've always been closer than other siblings. I used to think feeling the way I did about Edward was normal until I saw how Alice and Emmett are. Theoretically, they should be closer than me and Edward are because they're twins, but they aren't at all.

But lately, it doesn't feel like I'm close with Edward either. Maybe it's because he remembered that he had a girlfriend then. She's gone now, but still. If he had a girlfriend, why _did_ he kiss me? Why all the teasing and the touching? I don't get it.

If he's trying to drive me insane, it's working.

Then again, maybe he just doesn't want to kiss me because I'm his sister and he shouldn't ever have wanted to kiss me. That makes sense, but it hurts. And maybe I also did something wrong or something he didn't like. I can't imagine what that would be, though, unless he didn't like me pointing out that he was hurting me with his dick.

I didn't know they could get that hard. It felt like a _rock. _I actually had a tiny bruise from him rubbing on my hip. I'd looked at it with awe, running my fingers over the purple-blue spot, remembering that night all over again.

I think about it often. Like, obsessively often.

If I see a couple in the parking lot kissing, I flash back to the way Edward sucked my bottom lip in his mouth. If I see anyone holding hands, it makes me think about how warm his fingers felt against my face, against the corner of my mouth. Watching TV is the worst because there's always someone sucking face on a bed or a couch. Seeing something like that sends me immediately back to inferno ground zero. I'd caught myself blinking as if waking from a trance once, and I'd been totally out of it and panting like a dog in heat.

I'm afraid to watch TV with Dad.

Music sends me straight into Fantasy Land where Edward and I run to each other across a great distance, and he's sorry for hurting and ignoring me, and I forgive him … and we kiss and he looks at me with those soft eyes and touches me like he did that night.

Real life is more along the lines of Charli's XCX's _Boom Clap_, only Edward seems reluctant about getting close enough to make me feel good anymore, so I'm boom clapping without much reason.

But I have hope.

As the weeks pass and he keeps up a kind of good-natured, sarcastic persona with me, never really getting too close, I feel painfully sad at the idea that he'll never kiss me like that again.

Which is stupid. It's just a kiss.

And then, finally, I get mad.

**. . .**

Coach Clapp accepts anyone who's interested, who wants to put in the time and effort, on the track and cross country teams. He can't hide his surprise, though, when he learns how aerobically unfit I am.

"You don't bike? Play any sports? Haven't run before?"

"Sometimes I bike. I play Wii games; I'm really good at bowling. I, um, don't usually run … unless I'm being chased."

I sound really lame, so I square my shoulders and lift my chin.

He blinks at me with this quirk to his lips. He looks skeptical, _heavily_ skeptical. "You've got some work to do," he tells me finally. "Are you willing to train? It's gonna be hard. You're gonna have to start eating good food and getting your Zzzz."

"I want to try," I say.

"You've got to be mentally tough." He slams a closed fist into his hand. "This sport is all about pushing yourself, Bella. Setting goals. Being positive."

"I can do it. I _want _to do this."

"Okay. Okay. We'll give it a shot."

And so Tuesday I join the track and cross country team. I'm wearing a new pair of sweats that I cut off at mid-thigh under a pair of loose shorts. Just like the rest of them—the pros. And I stretch like them, too, slow and long while breathing deep.

Coach Clapp has me run some drills. He says I'm pretty fast at running short distances, and that I can train to become even faster than I already am. I'm no good at jumping, which is a relief because hurdles and high bars scare me. So now, the only thing left to find out is how well I do at distance running. He says four laps around the track is equal to one mile, then raises an eyebrow at me.

I barely make it around three times, and have to fight the urge not to barf in front of him. He said if I want to be any good, I'd need to work up to three miles at least four times a week.

I'm going to die.

**. . .**

"Ow, ow, ow," I say as I go down every step to the basement. Everything from the waist down is tight and sore from running. I've been trying to stretch often to keep my muscles loose, but there's only so much stretching a girl can do.

"What's wrong with you?" Edward asks. Surprise, he's on the way up.

"Just breaking in my track muscles," I tell him shortly. _Ow, ow, ow. _Even my lungs feel like they've had a work-out; I keep coughing.

"Wow. Grouch."

"Wow. Casper the Ghost."

"Don't mess with the TV," he tells me. "I'm just coming up to get a snack. I'm right in the middle of a _Walking Dead_ episode."

"Whatever," I say, and I turn around to follow him. So much for catching up on my _Flash_ show. "I didn't even know you were down here."

Holy crow, going _up _is even worse.

He's still standing in the doorway. "Oh, so you're now you're not going down there?"

"Nope. Wouldn't want to bother you."

He rolls his eyes, but I brush past him. I'm not interested in any excuse or wisecrack he may have.

"So you joined the school track team," he calls after me.

"Yep, I'm their newest track running star," I say and keep going, all the way back up to my bedroom. He doesn't need to know I almost barfed on the track and that I can't even run a mile yet. It's bad enough that he heard me groaning and saw me wincing.

A few minutes later, I get a text from Edward.

_Hey, grouch, I made popcorn. Want some?_

Bellabean: _Runners shouldn't eat junk food, so no thanks._

Edward: _It's not buttered. _

Bellabean: _No thank you, Edward._

Edward: _So I guess that means no Coke, either?_

Bellabean: _No, Edward._

Edward: _What about jellybeans?_

Bellabean: _I'm not hungry. _

Which is a lie. I'm hungry, but I already had dinner. If I'm going to snack, I'll have to eat carrots, apples or an orange.

Edward: _Are you on a diet?_

I sigh. He doesn't want to talk face-to-face with me, so he's bugging me via text? Argh.

Bellabean: _No, I'm just eating smarter now. _

Edward: _Sounds boring._

No kidding. But I've got this anger driving me now, which makes it easier to stay committed. I'm going to make it around the track four times by this coming Saturday. That gives me four days to practice … to run my heart out.

Edward: _You still there?_

I decide not to answer him. If he wants to talk to me, he can come upstairs.

But of course he doesn't.

**. . .**

Jasper's telling me about his flip-book idea for our art class at lunch when I suddenly notice someone standing to my left. I turn to see who it is and am taken aback by the sight of oh-so-shy James Laurent. Jasper pauses in mid word, then forks a piece of watermelon into his mouth.

"Hi," James says. He's got a tray full of food in one hand and his back pack in another. "I'm James. Could I sit with you?"

I smile at the look at his face. He's nervous-looking because of _me? _Interesting. "Sure. I'm Bella."

He sits and greets Jasper. "I know. You're in my English and History classes. I'm, er, also in track."

Fruit gets stuck in my throat. "You're in track, too?" Did he see me almost lose it the other day?

"I'm a cross country runner. Coach says that's what you want to be, too."

I swallow and nod. "Yes. I have to work up to it, though."

And he grins. _Damn, he saw._

"We could run together if you want," he says. "Running in pairs is actually encouraged."

He's got his hair back in a pony-tail today. With his clear blue eyes and white button down shirt, he looks almost like a Grecian god.

"I'd slow you down," I say and shake my head. When I glance to my right, I see Sprock peeking over Jasper's lunch tray, and I cough out a laugh.

James is adamant, though. "I train seven days a week. I won't hurt myself if I run with you, Bella."

I gape at him. "You run seven days a week?"

He shrugs. "Almost always. I love to run."

"Wow. I'm flattered that you'd want to help me."

"I do." And he looks very, very serious. "But if we're going to run together, I think we should set up a routine. Like, say, every day at six a.m., or every night at six p.m."

"_Every _day?" I squeak.

James nods and touches my wrist. "We can start out slow. Half a mile for a week, then a mile the next week, depending on how well you do. I recommend six a.m., though." And he grins at me full blast. "It's the perfect time of day."

Jasper gives a thumbs-up. James sees this and nods his head. "Hey, man."

"You won't get impatient with me? I won't be able to keep up with your pace, you know."

"I know. And no, I won't."

Something about the look in his eyes tells me that he won't … tells me that he just likes me. And I'm both fearful and hopeful, scared and excited.

"Okay," I say.

His smile is another blinder. "Great. We'll meet at the school track, okay? We'll run there until you can make a mile, then we'll run off track."

I pop another piece of melon in my mouth and chew with satisfaction. Everything is coming together.

Across from me, Jasper makes kissy lips and I kick him.

**. . .**

Getting up at 5:30 is _hard. _Almost impossible, even. I slide down the side of my bed to the floor and groan into the grayness of my room. Why am I doing this again?

_James. _

He was counting on me to meet him at the school.

Asking for the car last night was an unpleasant chore. Edward wanted to know what I wanted it for, and I told him I was driving to the school to go running with a friend.

"Who? That white-haired kid I saw you talking to yesterday?"

"His name is James. And he's going to help me train to be a cross country runner. Coach Clapp says he's ranked second in the state."

Edward wasn't happy, but I didn't know if it was because I was borrowing his precious car, or if he just didn't like who I was running with.

James was waiting for me when I pulled up in front of the gated track. The sun was rising and the sky was pink and orange and dusky blue.

"You ready?" he asks.

We stretch and he helps me with some new moves. We sit on the ground facing each other with the bottoms of our shoes touching, and stretch our arms out to each other. Then, we grab hands and take turns pulling each other forward. Kind of like a see-saw.

"You bring water?"

I lift my bottle of Sparkletts in a salute, and he does the same with his bottle of Arrowhead.

We meet every morning for the rest of the week, and although I'm still not comfortably able to run a mile by Saturday, I still feel as though I've leap over one of those tall hurdles.

"Call me Jamie," he says before we get back into our cars on Friday morning. "I'll see you in English, okay?"

"Okay."

He's nice. He's really, really nice.

**. . .**

"James Laurent used to go out with Vickie," Edward tells me later that morning.

"What? No. She's disgusting."

Edward scowls at me. "Apparently he likes disgusting."

"Apparently he wised up like you did."

"Apparently he's got bad taste, though."

"Not anymore," I tell him with a smile. _"Apparently."_

Edward gets this ugly look on his face, which is saying something because he never looks ugly. "I thought you were just training with him."

"We are. _Just _training," I tell him archly. "We're not dating."

"He hasn't tried to kiss you or anything?"

I scoff at him. "Not that it's any of your business. I don't ask who you're kissing or leaving behind from week-to-week."

Edward chugs his orange juice, then slams his glass down on the table, making me jump. "He'd better keep his hands and his mouth to himself."

"Or _what_?" I ask and take my dishes to the sink. I'm no longer hungry. I'm furious.

"Or he'll have me to deal with," Edward says and drops his plate on top of mine in the sink.

"What are you going to do, Edward? Punch him because he might like kissing the same girls you do?"

I feel him looking at me, feel him boring a hole into the side of my head with his gaze, but I'm busy rinsing off our dishes. I don't want to see the look in his eyes. I'm already this-close to losing it. So what if James likes me? What's it to him?

"I don't get why you'd even care," I growl. "Besides, he's nice. He watches over me. He's helping me get stronger with running. That's all."

And besides, he hasn't even asked me out yet. If he's in to girls like Vickie, then he probably won't.

Edward still doesn't answer, just stands there looking at me. Sheesh, maybe he should take a picture.

"No one watches over you like I do," he finally says. His voice sounds steely and intense, but the look in his eyes is one of tenderness. Maybe even apology.

"Well, maybe you don't have to anymore," I tell him. "Doesn't seem like you want to anyway."

"That's not true, Bella."

I've got tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat now, so I retreat fast. "Gotta go get my bag," I say and run for the stairs and my bedroom.

But he hears what I'm not saying and catches me, then pulls me back to him so my back is against his chest and his arms are tight around mine.

"I'm always going to watch over you, Bella," he says against my neck. As the goose bumps raise, he presses his lips against the skin there and I whimper.

"This isn't fair, Edward," I cry. "Why are you doing this?"

He tightens his arms around me and kisses my neck again. "I don't know."

I struggle to break free, even though I don't want to, because he can't just play with me. He's hot and then he's cold. He's who Katy Perry is singing about.

He lets me out of his arms, but traps one of my hands in his.

"Well, figure it out," I say. "You're giving me whiplash. I don't like feeling this way."

"I don't either. It's hell. I'm trying to stay away from you."

"But why?"

He shakes his head. "I just have to. We're not supposed to . . ."

"Yeah, well _you _do with any girl who crosses your path. So if I choose to, you can't say anything about it. It's my choice. Not yours."

And then he yanks me against his chest. "It's also my choice." And he kisses me on the mouth hard, then releases me.

"I'll wait for you in the car."

I race up to my room, throw myself onto my bed and scream into the pillow, then grab my bag.

Maybe he needs a dose of his own medicine. Maybe he's not the only one who can give someone else a case of whiplash.

_Grrrrrr._

**. . .**

**Who wants to spank Edward?**


	19. Capitulation

It's two weeks later on a Tuesday when Jamie decides I'm ready to run off of the track, so I follow him onto the grass behind the school. It's different running on uneven ground, on the grass, and I feel it immediately.

"There's a trail through the woods back here," he tells me. "It's a beginner's trail, so the hills are minimal, but I want you to try it."

"Right behind you," I say.

It's not really a woods behind the school, more like a small grouping of trees that lead up to corn fields, but I see a number of ground-pounded trails that lead in different directions. Jamie takes the one off to the right, which dips, curves and raises again. Because we're in the trees now, the temperature drops.

I'm running one-and-a-half miles five days a week now, and I feel like a tough, rough running machine. My calves and thighs are getting curvy and strong, but I still feel the burn. I'm nowhere near Jamie's endurance or speed, but he says with hard work and dedication, I'll get there.

After we're back and I'm panting and he's just breathing, he flashes me one of his blinding smiles. "You're doing really well."

"I bet … you say that … to all … of the … girls," I say.

"No. Just you."

I walk it off and then do some stretching lunges for my upper thighs. He's running in place beside me.

"Hey," he says. "How are you coming on that English assignment?"

I shrug. "It's going slowly. I'm not into Romeo and Juliet at all. I don't understand why Shakespeare just didn't say what he meant to say in _English._"

Jamie laughs. "Do you want to work on it together? Maybe come over to my house? Or, I can come to yours?"

"Sure, that'd be great. I think it'd be best if I come to your house, though."

He's all smiles and relief, like asking me has been something he's wanted to do for a while now. It makes it hard for me to believe he ever went out with someone like Vickie. He just doesn't seem the type.

"That'll work. You want to come right after school?"

So we agree that I'll go home with him today after school, and we'll try and knock that dang English assignment out of the park together.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he says.

We're still walking across the track to our cars, so I don't have to look at him when I ask my question. "Did you … ever date Vickie Ayres?"

He throws a sharp glance at me and I flush. "When we were in middle school, yeah. Why?"

I shrug. "Just something my brother told me. He, uh, dated her a little bit last year."

"We grew up together," he tells me. "But she changed. Started wearing lots of make-up and caring too much about what other people think. So we grew apart."

"Ah." Even better. He _didn't _date Vickie because she looked and acted like a slut, he _broke up with her _because she acted like a slut.

"Why are you smiling like that?"

We stop when we get to my car. Well, Edward's. "I'm sorry you broke up with her after she changed, but glad, too. I was afraid that if you liked someone like her, you wouldn't … well, like someone like me."

He raises a hand to touch my cheek. It's a brief, warm touch that makes me blush.

"I'm liking you a lot just the way you are," he says.

"What? Sweaty and stinky?"

A small smile touches his lips. "I'm sweaty and stinky, too, so you're perfect."

"No way. But thanks for the compliment," I say.

"Easiest one I've ever given. See you in English," he says and squeezes my shoulder.

I wear a goofy grin all the way home.

**. . .**

Edward's waiting for me as soon as I get home from the study session with Jamie.

"How'd it go?" he wants to know.

I move around him to greet Dad, who's watching TV in the living room. "It went fine. Hey, Dad, pizza night?"

He holds up a half-eaten slice. "Help yourself, kiddo."

"I'm good, I already ate at Jamie's."

Edward's giving me a beautiful stink eye. "What'd you eat? Nuts and bark?"

"Chicken and broccoli," I say.

He follows me up to my bedroom and hangs out in the doorway while I stow my bag of books on the floor next to my closet.

"I'm tired," I say and flop down on the bed.

He crosses his arms. "I'd be tired, too, if I got up at 5:30 every morning."

"That was a hint, Edward. I'm ready to call it a night."

"It's not even eight."

"I want to read a while before bed." As I stretch, I see his eyes following the lines of my body. I'm in jeans and a hoody, nothing overtly sexual. When he doesn't move, just keeps standing there, I sit up and unzip the hoody. His eyes widen and he takes a step back, hitting the door jam, when I stand to shrug it off.

"Need anything?" I ask archly.

His eyes drop to my breasts. I put my hands on my hips and let him stare.

"Want to see them?"

He gapes at me, actually _gapes_ at me. I don't think I've ever seen that look on his face.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I take a slow step towards him. "Nothing really. What the hell are _you_ doing?"

He tries to take another step back, but he's already against the door frame. "I'm just trying to make conversation," he says almost apologetically.

I'm close enough to put the palm of my hand on his chest, so I do, right between his pecks. He's wearing a tight gray t-shirt and I can see that his nipples are hard. _Very interesting. _When he stands still and lets me touch him, I move my hand down. He's definitely hot-blooded. I'm almost near the snap on his jeans when his hand comes to rest on mine, holding it low against his stomach.

I'm not breathing right. Actually, I feel kind of faint.

"I said, what the hell are you doing?" But his voice is low and breathless and he's not moving my hand away.

So I yank it away and take two steps back. "Good night, Edward."

He says a bad word and closes his eyes tightly. His hands are balled into fists at his sides. It's actually pretty frightening to see, but God, he looks … dangerous and sexy. Anger is a good look for Edward.

Inside my book bag, my phone chimes with an incoming text.

Edward's eyes snap open. He's definitely angry. "Is that _him_?" he all but snarls.

It's not, because the trill sound is Rose's chime, but Edward doesn't have to know that.

"Maybe," I say.

He pushes off the doorframe and for second, I think he's going to come at me. It's what he wants me to think. But then he turns and I hear him clomping down the stairs. A few minutes later, I hear his car start … then shut off.

I'm heading for the bathroom when he clomps back up the stairs and I wonder what Dad is thinking.

Edward glares at me when he sees me, but doesn't say anything. He just goes into his room and closes the door firmly.

I pause by the bathroom, then go stand outside his door with my hand pressed against the wood. "I'm glad you came back," I say to the door. "I don't think I could have forgiven you if you'd ran off to another girl again."

But he doesn't respond, so I go and get ready for bed like I'd planned.

**. . .**

Jasper, Jamie, and I are in the middle of a discussion about the kid who plays The Flash on TV, and his so-called running skills, when Edward strolls over. I just shoveled in a bite of my turkey sandwich, so I hurriedly chew so I can speak and ask him what's he's doing here.

"Laurent," Edward says in acknowledgement and takes the chair across from Jamie. Beside Edward, Jasper rubs his hands together with glee.

"I sense The Brotherly Warning coming," he says.

I roll my eyes at him.

He has Sprock show me his tongue.

"Edward." James takes it all in stride. He's really the most laid back person I've ever met, besides Dad.

"How's Vickie?" Edward wants to know.

"I wouldn't know. We don't exactly keep in touch."

"Edward, what are you doing?" I ask.

He flicks his eyes my way, then focuses on Jamie again. "You've got some lettuce there," and Edward points to his two front teeth.

"He's still eating," I say. "Leave him alone."

"How long are you going to let your hair grow? I thought runners liked everything nice and trim."

"Jamie, just ignore him," I say and glare at Edward.

"It's okay," he tells me with a smile, which makes Edward's face go stony. "I'm not sure how long I'm going to let my hair get. I guess I'll figure it out when it gets there. But meanwhile, it doesn't slow me down."

"I don't think anything could slow you down," I say.

"I bet a broken leg would slow him down," Edward says with a grin. "Maybe even a broken nose. Or wait, no, you breathe through your mouth when you run, right?"

"Have you eaten yet, or are you just here to annoy us?" I ask him.

"Oh, I've eaten," he tells me. "Looks like you two got the turkey sandwiches. I had the ham and cheese."

"Of course you did," I say.

"And a Coke," he adds.

"That right there is all the food groups combined," Jasper says. And he gives Edward a double five, over the head, hand smack.

_Idiots._

"So what brings you over here, Edward? Isn't your harem lonely without you?"

Edward smirks at me. "They'll live. They still have me in their sights."

I glance over at his table and sure enough, two of the girls are watching us. When they see me looking, they lean their heads together and giggle.

_Idiots._

"I wanted to come and meet James," Edward says. "After all, he has the hots for my sister, so I wanted to make sure he knows what he's getting into." And he leans across the table like he's getting ready to confide a secret to Jamie. "Are you ready for this?"

Jamie flashes me a look. I roll my eyes at him and shrug.

"I'm ready," Jamie says.

"Well, here goes," Edward says and smacks the table once. "She blows snot bubbles when she sneezes, sleepwalks into my bedroom at night, rips her pants in the crotch area regularly, is scared of spiders, believes the boogieman really exists …" And he allows us to laugh as much as we want before he finishes with a decided glare in his eyes.

"And she's closer to me than she'll ever be to you."

Jamie doesn't know what to say to that. Neither do I. Neither does Jasper.

"Accept that, and she's all yours, Laurent. Just don't come between us. Don't hurt her, don't fucking make her cry, and keep your hands out of her panties."

I gasp.

Jasper makes Sprock gasp.

Jamie trades a stoic look with Edward.

"I hope that's clear," Edward says a moment later. "I hate to repeat myself."

"Crystal," Jamie says.

Edward is all charm and smiles now as he stands, but his eyes are still dark and stormy. He's pissed that Jamie isn't ruffled, I guess. "See you at home, Bella."

I glare after him with my heart in my throat. What did he just try to do? Why would he even bother?

"So," Jamie says after he clears his throat. "I guess you two are close?"

I put my elbow on the table, and my head into my open hand.

"They've always been close," Jasper tells him. "Like best friends, really. It's just … I think high school is cracking him up. Yeah. That's got to be it."

"Maybe he needs a hobby," Jamie says.

"I'm so sorry," I tell him. "He's just … really protective about me. And obviously jealous."

"Yes, I think you're right."

"Are you mad? Because you don't look mad, and I don't know you well enough to know if this is what you look like when you're mad—"

"Bella," he laughs and puts a hand on my arm. "It's fine. He's your big brother. I get it."

Jasper and I trade an unhappy look.

I don't think Jamie gets it. How can he? I barely get it myself.

**. . .**

I corner Edward after dinner, right up against the dishwasher.

"What was that today?"

Edward smiles down at my face of outrage. "Just a little how-do-you-do, Boo."

I stomp my foot. "I've never once said a word to any of the skanks you've dated. How could you do this?"

His face brightens. "What would you have said to one of them?"

"Get your hoe-bag, nasty lips off my brother," I growl.

"Whoa. _Scary_."

"Are you two fighting?" Dad asks as he comes in to get a beer out of the fridge. "Because you know I don't like to hear fighting."

"We'll fight upstairs," I say and grab Edward's wrist because he's coming with me.

"Don't break any of the furniture," Dad calls after us.

I lead Edward to his bedroom because I want to be able to slam the door when I leave. He lets me shove him down to sit on his bed.

"So?" I stand over him with my arms crossed. He looks way too jolly, so I have to put him in his place.

"This thing with Jamie? It's not like what you had with your skank-of-the-week. He's a friend and he's important to me, and you tried to humiliate him today. And you hurt me by trying."

That sinks the jolly right off his face. "Look, I know Laurent's different. That's why I went over there. I don't want him treating you—"

"Like you treat girls? He's not like _you_, Edward."

He reaches out and pulls me on to his lap straddle style. When I fight to get off, his hands raise to my hips. "Sit still."

"Ugh!" I slap at his shoulders. "I can't talk to you like this."

"Better get over it, then, because you're not going anywhere."

"This isn't funny, Edward, and I don't want to be played with."

"No?" And he raises a hand to my hair, then gently tugs it until my neck is straining. I see his eyes drop to the neckline of my V-neck t-shirt. "But I want to play with you."

I growl and tug his hair back, and soon we're wrestling again and my body is humming because he's here and close and is touching me, and I can touch him. When he has me on my back and is half laying on me, he holds my face in one of his hands.

"Has he kissed you yet?"

I close my eyes in embarrassment. "No."

Why hasn't Jamie kissed me yet?

"What a dork," Edward whispers against my cheek. He presses his mouth gently there, then moves it down to my neck. When I feel his tongue there, I gasp and turn my face to give him better access. He takes my earlobe between his teeth and bites me gently. Then he moves slowly down my neck until he reaches the fabric of my t-shirt. Tugging it away from my neck, he bares my shoulder and bites me on the place between my neck and my shoulder. Everything goes molten and I buck against him in surprise.

"Mine," he says and kisses the spot he just bit.

"No," I groan.

"Yes," he says against my lips. "Kiss me."

And he rolls so that I'm on top of him now. I'm dazed, percolating like coffee being brewed from the waist down, and my mouth aches to touch his. Under my hands, his chest is rising and falling unsteadily.

"Please, Bella."

Slowly, I lean down to his face. My hair makes a kind of cocoon for us and I press my mouth oh-so-gently against his. As soon as my lips touch his, he inhales deeply and pulls me flush against his body with one of his arms. One of his hands holds me to his mouth, guides me.

"Yes," he whispers.

And it's as sweet as it was the first time, only it's bittersweet because I've missed this, because I've come to crave it, and I'm angry when he won't give it. So I take all of that out on his mouth and he takes it and gives it back.

We fall onto the floor and it's a rude awakening for Edward. Maybe he hit his head, because he was on the bottom, but he's suddenly pushing me up and towards the door.

"We can't. Not right now," he says.

My heart leaps. "You're not mad?"

His face is flushed and he looks adorable. I want to kiss him again immediately. And hit him, too. "I can't fight it anymore," he says. "But we can't get caught."

I take a step towards him and rest my forehead against his chest. "I'm glad you want to kiss me again. I know you shouldn't, but I don't care. I don't care."

He sighs heavily. "I always want to kiss you. Always have."

I lift my chin to smile up at him. "Good."

His eyes go cloudy. "Not good, Bella. It's not like we can walk around holding hands and kissing in public."

"I don't want to do that stuff anyway. This is private," I tell him.

He backs me against the wall beside the door. "Soooo private," he says and drops his mouth to mine. It's like he can't get enough of me. And I can't get enough of him.

Only the sound of Dad's steps coming up the stairs breaks us apart, where we look at each other with wild eyes.

"You two done fighting? It's ten o'clock."

I shove my hair back and turn to open the door. "We're done. The only casualty was Edward's ego," I tell Dad.

"Hmmmmm."

When I look over my shoulder, I see that Edward definitely looks like something was destroyed.

**. . .**

It's impossible to fall asleep that night. _Impossible. _And just when I've made up my mind to walk across the hall to Edward's bedroom to see if he's having trouble sleeping, my door creaks open. I shoot up in bed.

"You awake?" he whispers.

"No. I always sit up in bed like this to sleep," I whisper back.

He comes and gets under the covers with me and we lay on our sides facing each other.

"I love you, you know?" he says.

"I know. I love you, too. You know?"

"Stop being such a wise ass."

We catch hands.

"I don't want you to kiss James," he says.

"I didn't want you to kiss all those girls," I say.

His eyes close. "I just did it to try and forget _you_."

I gape. "You did?"

"Yes."

We're silent, just staring into each other eyes and finding comfort.

"Now what?" I ask and fight a yawn.

He doesn't fight it, just yawns big and then smiles sadly at me. "I don't know. I guess we sleep."

"Okay."

I bring our clasped hands up under my chin and finally, sleep takes me.

**. . .**

**I'm sad right now. They have no idea what they're getting into.**


	20. Torn

Edward is gone when my alarm goes off at 5:30 the next morning. After I get dressed for my run, I walk to Edward's room. I hear Dad downstairs having breakfast; he knows I'll be down any minute. But first, I want to see Edward.

He's asleep, but rolls over when I touch him.

"At night, they come without being called," I tell him softly. "But by day, they are lost. What are they?"

His eyes close as I kiss his cheek.

"Only this time, it's not exactly true, because you're real."

"Don't go," he says groggily.

"Sleep," I tell him. "I love you."

And while Jamie and I run, I wonder what I'm going to do about Jamie. I'm still attracted to him, but I don't feel the same about him as I do about Edward. And … leading Jamie on isn't fair to any of us.

But I want to get a kiss. Just to compare. Which isn't fair. And is killing my brain.

"You seemed distracted today," Jamie says as we walk to our cars.

My shoulders hunch. Rats. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay. I do my best thinking while I run. Maybe you will, too."

"I guess."

"Bella? Do you want to go see a movie with me on Friday night?"

I'm blindsided by his sudden question. Based on how slowly we'd progressed so far, I hadn't expected this kind of question for another couple of weeks at least.

"Oh."

"I mean, if you don't want to, that's okay, too. I just thought—"

"Jamie, it's fine. I'd love to go with you. It's just that I have to ask my Dad, and I'm not sure he'll say I can. Supposedly, I'm not allowed to date until I turned eighteen."

He flushes. "Oh."

This is so embarrassing. "But he lets us run every morning, so I don't see why he wouldn't let us go see a movie together."

And hopefully Edward won't mind too much.

Fat chance. He's going to mind a _lot_.

But maybe Dad will say no and save me this trouble.

But Edward will be mad just because I've asked.

But Jamie will get hurt if I don't ask.

_Ugh. _

**. . .**

"So I have to tell you something," I say to Edward on the way to school.

"And I'm not going to like it," he surmises correctly.

"No," I sigh.

"And you have to tell me now?"

"Um, no. It can wait til after school."

His hands tighten on the wheel. "No. Tell me now, else it's just going to drive me nuts wondering what it is all day."

I swallow. "Jamie asked me out to the movies this Friday," I say hurriedly in one breath.

Edward gives me a look. "So? Dad will never let you go. And even if he did, I wouldn't."

Just what I thought.

"Do you _want _to go?" he asks me lowly.

"Depends on the movie," I say illogically.

"This isn't funny, Bella."

"I know. Sorry. It's just that I like Jamie. I don't want to hurt his feelings."

"But you don't mind hurting mine."

"Edward. It's not about that. I will never feel the same way about Jamie that I feel about you, okay? But he's a _friend._ And friends do things together."

"Not when one friend wants to be more than friends, and the other doesn't." And he gives me sharp, angry look. "Unless you _do_?"

My face is red. I hate this conversation. "I don't. I _don't._ But I did … before we had our talk. And Jamie knows that. So it doesn't seem fair to him that suddenly, now I don't. You know?"

Edward glares at me as we stop at a red light. "None of this is fair. You and me loving each other like this isn't fair. Me and those other girls weren't fair. And you and Jamie? Fucking not fair."

"_All is fair in love and war_," I quote.

Edward squeals the tires as we take off. "You're going to have to tell him you're not interested."

"Eventually, yes."

The pained look on his face matches mine.

"Don't wait too long," he tells me softly. "Please."

We pull in to Jasper's driveway, and I lean over to kiss his cheek. "I won't."

"I hate this," he whispers.

"I'm sorry," I whisper back.

We're still trading looks of anguish when Jasper climbs in.

"Hey. You two okay?" he asks.

Not really. "We're just fine," I say.

**. . .**

We're at lunch when I notice Jasper keeps glancing behind me, but when I turn to see what it is, I don't see anything unusual.

"What?" I say to him.

He shrugs. He's blushing! When I giggle, he has Sprock cover his face.

"Tell me. What is it?"

Sighing, he says, "There's some girl who likes me. She's in our history class? She won't stop staring at me."

I turn around again, and sure enough, I see a girl drop her eyes to the tray in front of her when she sees me looking.

"Who is she?"

"Um, Paula something."

I start singing. "Jasper and Paula, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes—"

"Shut it," Sprock tells me. "You're killing Jasper."

So sweet, Jasper has his first admirer. I'm so proud.

"What about Alice?"

He blushes again and has Sprock answer. "Alice is never going to notice him."

I touch his socked hand in sympathy.

**. . .**

Dad isn't thrilled with the idea of me going to see a movie with Jamie, but I know I have some leeway because he let Edward take Jessica out at a younger age.

"I want you home no later than fifteen minutes after that movie ends," he says.

"What if there's a traffic accident?"

"That's what phones are for," he tells me.

"There'd better not be any traffic accident," Edward says.

Dad exchanges a look with Edward. They're a team and right now, they want to crush Team Jamie.

"We'll be waiting," Dad says ominously.

Great.

**. . .**

Jamie holds my hand as we walk up to the theater, then puts his hand on my lower back when we go through the doors. He's a gentleman, doing all the things for me that Edward once did for Jessica. Only Jamie doesn't have an ulterior motive.

Well, maybe he does, but it's not likely one that is meant to humiliate me.

We're watching a romantic comedy, something that I just know is not his thing. I can tell by the way he keeps shifting in his seat. Forty-five minutes into it, I take pity on him.

"Let's go get some ice cream or something," I whisper to him, and he grins at me in relief.

We share a banana sundae at a small mom-and-pop shop not too far from where I live.

"We have about 35 minutes," I tell him.

"He wasn't kidding then, was he?"

"Nope. If I'm not home by nine o'clock, heads are going to roll. Yours _and_ mine," I tell him.

He shovels a spoonful of chocolate-covered ice cream into his mouth. "Got it," he mumbles.

I like seeing him this relaxed. He's usually quite reserved.

"So who besides Vickie have you dated before?" I ask.

He runs a hand through his pretty hair. "No one. I don't really have time. My school work and running take precedence."

I nod. He _is _reserved. "I bet your parents are proud of you."

He shrugs. "Mom is, but Dad wishes I played football instead. He got into college on a scholarship playing ball, and he was hoping I would, too."

"You'll get a track scholarship," I tell him.

"Maybe."

"No maybes. You will. Coach says you're ranked second in the whole state."

He blushes and stares down at his placemat. "That can always change, though."

"What? You drop to third? Jump to first?"

"Bella," he smiles.

"You're good. _Own_ it," I tell him.

As we're leaving, he pauses before opening the passenger car door.

"Do you mind if I kiss you?"

My heart starts pounding in fear and excitement. "No," I breathe.

"It's just that I don't want to do it in front of your house," he says. "I know your Dad will be watching. Probably your brother, too."

"They would. Sorry," I admit.

He shrugs, grins and leans forward to cup my face in his hands. Slowly, we come together. His touch is tentative at first, then soft and searching. His way of kissing is directly opposite from that of Edward's. James wants me to lead, whereas Edward likes to lead when we kiss.

And I shouldn't be thinking of Edward right now.

Someone honks their horn and yells at us. "Get a room."

Jamie glares at the car with the yeller, then huffs out a laugh. And then we're laughing together, relieved that the first kiss is out of the way. The ice has been broken, so to speak.

But I can't help thinking about how the ice had been melted clean away with Edward's first kiss.

**. . .**

Later that night, I'm awakened when Edward climbs into my bed. He doesn't waste any time in covering my mouth with his, in covering my body with his. Grasping my hands, he moves them above my head and holds them there. With each hard kiss that claims me, he raises my hands and pins them to the bed again.

Somehow he knows Jamie kissed me, even though I'd been careful to conceal it.

"You're mine," he says and bites my bottom lip.

His mouth is warm and wet and insistent against mine. He's soft and backing up, making me go after his mouth, then he's hard against me again, almost angry and demanding. He moves one of his hands to my mouth, holding it open with one of his thumbs, and I taste it with my tongue. I bite it, suck on it, suck on his tongue. I want to devour him.

"Yours," I say against his mouth.

When he starts moving against me, I tense. I think my body is ready for the next step, but my mind, my brain, is not. Thankfully, he senses that and backs up.

"I'm sorry," he gasps. He moves to my side, re-arranges things down there.

"Does it hurt?" I ask.

"Not the way you're thinking," he says.

"What way, then?"

He groans a little. "It's a burning ache. A pressure. It'll go away."

A burning ache? A pressure? Sounds like it hurts to me.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Don't be. It's okay, Bella. I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

I close my eyes tight. I don't want to know, but I have to. "Have you? Ever?"

When he doesn't answer at first, a sharp, stinging pain arches through my body, and I roll violently away from him. I didn't mind the kissing so much, but that? _That_ hurts.

His arms encircle me from behind and pull me tight, tight against him.

"Just once," he whispers.

A broken sob escapes my throat. Just _once_? Once is all it takes to break my heart. Why does just once matter to him?

"Bella, please. It didn't mean anything. _She _didn't mean anything. Do you want to know who it was?"

I know who it was. He doesn't have to tell me, because I know how thorough he always is.

"You broke both of our hearts then," I say. "I hate you right now."

I swore I'd never say that to him again, but right now, I'm filled with so much hurt and anger and … jealousy. And I can't stop the tears from falling.

How could he?

Why did he have to be so mean?

"Don't hate me," he says and forces me onto my back. "Don't you dare."

I turn my face away when he tries to kiss me, but his fingers pull me back and we're kissing again, crying, too. He's crying with me.

"I'm sorry," he says brokenly over and over.

I have horrible dreams that night. He's there holding me every time I wake, but my heart is still broken. It's going to take a while to heal.

**. . .**

"You look horrible," Jasper tells me in first period. "So did Edward. What's going on?"

I shake my head at him, but remain silent. I don't want to talk. I don't want to even breathe, so I bury my head in my arms.

"That bad, huh?"

Worse. Planes are crashing down, an earthquake is swallowing up all the buildings, and a tsunami is coming. It feels like the end of the world.

"Here."

I lift my head up. It's awful bright. In front of me is Sprock.

"Put him on and tell him all about it," Jasper says.

I gurgle out a laugh. I wish I could.

"Can I take him home?"

I laugh at the look of horror on his face.

"Just kidding."

He snatches Sprock off my desk. "Get your own sock, woman."

I smile at him, my short, blue-eyed unlikely friend. Rose has been pre-occupied with Emmett ever since school started, and Alice is being really moody lately, so I'm closest to Jasper right now.

And to Sprock.

Maybe I should get my own sock. I'll call her Suzie Effen Q. Or maybe Lolo.

**. . .**

Dinner is a morose affair of baked salmon, steamed asparagus and silence. Dad and Edward don't like the fish, but I had a horrible day, so I wasn't about to make hamburgers. Besides, it's good for them.

"How was school?" Dad asks as he cuts his salmon into tiny bitable pieces.

"Scintillating as always," I mumble.

"What?"

"It was okay," Edward mumbles.

Dad looks at us with the same look of distaste he just gave the fish. "What? You two are fighting _again_?"

"No, I just didn't sleep very well last night," I say with a tiny glare at Edward. "In fact, I think I'll go to bed right after dinner."

"Don't have any homework?" he asks.

"Did it already."

"How about you?" he asks Edward.

Edward snaps his gaze from me to Dad. "I'm going to bed early, too."

Dad sighs. "I meant _homework_."

"Oh. No. I don't have any."

Dad considers us in silence, then, "Well, I caught a perp today. Pulled someone over for a missing tail light on my way home, and it turns out she had a record for over 20 unpaid parking tickets. Society is safe once again."

We look at Dad like the crazy person he is.

"Have you thought about dating?" I ask him.

He chokes on his bite of fish.

**.**** . .**

I won't let Edward in tonight.

I'm mad at him, so I'm not going to let Edward in tonight.

I won't let Edward in tonight.

But when he comes in shortly after Dad has gone to bed, I'm glad to see him. So much for my so-called resolve.

"You know how sorry I am," he tells me lowly.

I hold the covers tight against my chest. "You know how hurt I am," I say.

"I do. Tell me what I can do to make it better."

He lifts the covers to get under with me, and I shoot out the side of the bed. While I try to get my breathing under control, he comes to stand in front of me.

"Tell me, Bella."

I don't know!

Take it all back!

I wish you had left Jessica the hell alone!

And suddenly I'm beating his chest with my closed fists. He lets me, until he feels he's had enough, and then he holds my fists against his stomach.

"This never would have happened if you hadn't stuck your nose in where it didn't belong," I hiss. "You were so concerned about the consequences of Jessica's actions that you didn't even consider yours."

He looks at me with anguish in his eyes. "You're right. I didn't. I didn't, Bella."

Because he doesn't offer a defense, I'm undone. I don't know what else to say, so I let him hug me while I cry.

It helps that he doesn't try to overwhelm me with kisses again. Instead, he lays me down in the bed like I'm a child, then strokes my hair until I fall asleep. And this time, there are no dreams.

**.**** . .**

**Commenters get a chance to influence the story. **

_**left in bits**_** and **_**Arabella Whitlock**_** love Jasper and Sprock, so he now has a bigger part in the story. And **_**Arabella**_** normally doesn't read EdwardxBella stories!**

_**Danny2126**_** helped shape Bella's anger at Edward. She's got some rad comprehensive skills, a real knack for summing things up perfectly.**

_**SuziefknQ**_** shared some information early on during the story that influenced how Renee acted. She's also has a wonderful way of expressing her thoughts.**

_**MySwagg5050**_** keeps me posting because she's all about cracking the whip. Girl is relentless. Probably dangerous, too.**

_**lynard69**_** and **_**TeamKristen4U **_**wanted James to be a nice guy. So he **_**is**_**.**

_**DreamerRoad**_** is good at giving me a dose of reality. Kind of ironic, when you consider her profile name, right?**

_**Lotus11**_** has ESPN. She's able to predict character moves by reading between the lines.**

**What are you waiting for? Hit the reply button and give me **_**your**_** thoughts.**


	21. Color Me Blue

**A/N: Lots of people are upset at how far Edward went with Jessica just to even a score for Bella. He is definitely unhinged when it comes to protecting her. These are the overprotective tendencies I referred to in his character sketch (bottom of chapter one).**

**It breaks my heart, too, that he gave his v-card to Jessica. But he was too angry, and too young, to realize what he was giving away. It's only now, by Bella's reaction and hurt, that's he's beginning to realize it.**

**Something else? I'm not espousing incest, I'm just writing a story about it. **

**. . .**

Rose is currently fighting with Emmett, so she and I are spending Saturday night with Alice while Emmett, Edward and Jasper go camping. It's almost Halloween, so it's going to be their last jaunt out there this year.

"I think we need to see other people," Rose tells me and Alice. "We're getting bored with each other."

Alice is sketching an idea for an ice skating costume. Last month it was fancy hair up-dos, but now her new obsession is girl's ice skating costumes. "You mean _you_ want to see other people," she says.

Rose wrinkles her nose. "Okay, fine. _I _want to see other people. How'd you know? Did he tell you?"

"No. I dreamed about it."

Rose and I trade a look, but Alice is concentrating so hard on her drawing, her tongue is sticking out at the corner. I doubt she even realizes what she said.

"What do you mean, you _dreamed _about it?"

She looks up at Rose with a guilty expression on her face. "I don't know. I just saw you telling Emmett that you wanted a break, and him crying about it. He's pretty sure you're it for him, though."

"Emmett cried?" I ask Rose.

"Did he tell you that?" Rose asks Alice.

Alice looks back at her sketch. "He didn't tell me anything. I told you—I had a dream about you and him. I didn't think it was _real._"

"Well," Rose begins and stops. "He … only cried a little. But don't tell anyone, you guys. I hate that I made him cry."

"Weird," I say.

Alice's head snaps up. "_What?_ What's weird?" She's angry again all the sudden.

"Uh, that you dreamed about it," I say slowly. "Don't you think that's weird?"

Her eyes narrow. "I also dreamed that you were going to trip going down the stairs and break your wrist. Be. Careful."

"What?!"

"Alice, take a chill pill," Rose says. "Bella didn't mean anything by that."

And then Alice rolls to her side and laughs her head off. Rose and I jump on the bed with her and hold her down while taking turns tickling her.

"What is going on with you lately? It's like you're PMSing seven days a week," Rose says.

Alice blushes. "I am not."

"Then what?"

She pushes Rose away and sits up, then cuddles in my arms. "I don't know what."

"Maybe you need a boyfriend."

"Yeah, maybe."

I kiss the top of her head and give her an extra squeeze. Whatever is bothering her, she doesn't want to talk about it.

**. . .**

Edward and I are at the dining room table doing our homework. I just finished writing my last question about how long the Berlin Wall was and why it was built, and now I'm concentrating on how long Edward's eyelashes are. Because he's looking down, they fan across his cheeks like a girl's. It looks absurd with the thick slashes of his eyebrows above.

He must feel my stare, because suddenly his eyes raise to mine. "What?"

"It's not big or small, or a liquid, solid or a gas, but it can be broken without being dropped. What is it?" I ask.

He sighs loudly and long, and sits up fully. "My heart, if you won't forgive me."

"No. That's not it," I tell him.

"Bella."

"I thought you were supposed to work today."

He folds his arms across his chest. "I have Tuesdays off for the next two weeks rotation."

"That's a weird day to have off," I tell him.

"Bella."

Now I sigh long and loud. "I just need more time, Edward."

"Time to do what?"

"To try and forget that it happened, that's what. Unless you think I should sleep with Jamie, so then you can feel what I'm feeling?"

He totally doesn't get that I'm joking. His green eyes turn black, his nose flares, and his face flushes. "Don't. You. Ever."

"Then back off. I'll let you know when I'm ready to kiss you again," I say coolly, and I'm mad because he thinks I would really do such a thing. I gather up my stuff, then turn to leave. I'm not five steps away, though, before I come storming back and slam my books on the table. Even though he sees me coming, he still jumps.

"You know what, Edward? I would never deliberately hurt you by mindlessly screwing somebody, let alone Jamie, who I _like. _And I can't believe you think I would. Stop judging me by your actions."

He looks like I've kicked him. "I know I hurt you, but I didn't do it deliberately."

"Yeah, well, it feels pretty deliberate to me. Not that you wanted to hurt me _that _way, but you set out to do a certain thing supposedly because of how Jessica was treating me. Now you have to live with the consequences, as you once said."

He groans and pinches his nose. "What if I gave you a foot rub for the next seven days?"

It's almost impossible to keep a smile from spreading across my face, but somehow I manage to do it. "That'd be a nice start."

"What else? Want me to cook dinner for the next seven days, too?"

"Hell no," I say and shudder. He's got no patience to make anything but spaghetti, popcorn, or pour bowls of cereal.

"Bathroom duty," I say. "The bathroom is all yours for the next month."

He looks pained . . . sexy and pained . . . and then cautiously victorious. "Darn. I was hoping we could have another water fight," he said.

I make a face at him, then sit back down at the table to finish my homework. Storming off no longer seems like a good idea. I hate being mad at him. Besides, I miss him when I'm not with him, even if we're in the same house. It's crazy ridiculous.

"Do you know anything about post-war Germany?"

Now he gives _me _a face, then points to my World History book. "It's all in there, pretty girl."

**. . .**

A week later, it's Halloween. The school is letting us dress up for the day, as long as our costumes don't interfere with our vision, hearing, or sitting at a desk. I'm going as Wednesday Addams, and I think I look pretty good. Scary, too. I'm dressed head to toe in black, except for the white collar of my button-up shirt. My dark hair is in two long braids, and I've darkened my eyes with eyeliner and dark blue eye shadow. Now I just have to remember not to smile too much.

Edward's waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. He's dressed as James Dean, which is a cop out as far as I'm concerned because all he's done is teased his hair up even higher than it normally stands and rolled up the bottom of his jeans legs. Everything thing else—the white t-shirt and the jean jacket—he already had. He looks good, though. And he'll probably get all sorts of attention from the girls, I think with a scowl.

"What's the frown for?" he wants to know.

"Wednesday doesn't smi—"

I slip on the edge of step and when I try to catch my balance, I somehow pitch forward and start doing the running man down the steps. Only I'm going way too fast and miss a bunch of steps at once. Edward tries to catch me and in the process, knocks me to the left and the side of my hand hits against the banister. I hear and feel my bone snap. The pain is unreal and I can't help screaming.

I suddenly realize Edward is calling my name. "Bella, baby, what is it?"

"My hand," I cry. "It's broken!"

He pulls me up by my good arm and hustles me out the door. "Let's get you to the hospital."

I don't remember much about the ride, except for the throbbing pain that radiated from my wrist to my arm and then every place else. I tried not to cry, but I'm pretty sure a couple of whines and whimpers escaped.

They put me in a hand split once they've confirmed what I yelled at them from the get-go: my pinky metacarpal bone is fractured.

So much pain from such a little break on my littlest finger. But I think I'm going to die until they feed me a Vicodin. Once that kicks in, everything is much, much better.

Dad arrives as the doctor is splinting all four of my fingers together.

"You can go to school now, Edward, I've got it."

James Dean looks crushed with a capital K. I want to kiss him. "It's okaaaaaay, James Deeeeeean. I'll be just fiiiiiiiiine." And I giggle at his grumpy, cute little facey-wacey.

I can tell he wants to kiss me, too. But he can't, nope, he can't right now, not in front of all of these people and Dad.

"I'll see you later, Bella," he says and squeezes my arm.

"I miss you," I call after him. "I mean, I willlll."

Dad's talking with the doctor. I'm staring at the tiled ceiling and trying to count the tiles, but they keep shifting and I'm afraid the ceiling is going to fall on us.

"Dad, I want to go to school now," I say.

But I don't get to go to school that day. Dad takes me home and I fall asleep in my Wednesday Addams costume and smear blue eye shadow all over my pillow.

And then when I wake up, I remember how Alice said that I was going trip on the stairs and break my wrist. Which is close enough to scare the poop out of me, so I call her.

"_Bella?"_

"Alice! Did Edward tell you what happened?"

"_He said you hurt yourself on the stairs,"_ she said slowly.

"Yes. I tripped just like you said I would. And I broke my pinky."

"_Well, that's not your wrist."_

"But it's close."

"_But it's not your wrist."_

"Alice, did you really dream that I was going to trip on the stairs and hurt myself?"

Or did I just have that idea in the back of my head and somehow make it happen?

"_I wasn't … asleep at the time."_

"You weren't dreaming?"

"_Well, I wasn't asleep."_

"So, you just had a thought that I'd fall?"

She sighs. _"Maybe. I'm not sure what it was. It's probably just dumb luck, Bella."_

"Yeah. Real dumb. Especially for me."

"_Look, don't tell anyone, okay?"_

"I wouldn't even know where to begin. But Alice?

"_Yeah?"_

"If you see me getting in a head-on collision, or getting hit by a garbage truck, or getting poisoned by bad chicken, I want you to tell me."

"_You got it, Bellabean."_

**. . .**

Edward feels especially bad that he wasn't able to save me this morning, and is moody and grumpy and wearing a sad face. I climb on his lap and cuddle. We're in the basement and it's almost bedtime.

"It was just a dumb accident," I tell him and put my forehead against his neck. "You can save me the next time." His arms are tight around me and I feel safe. I'm also feeling the second Vicodin pill kick in. Wow, those things are potent.

"I'm hoping there won't _be _a next time," he growls.

"Well, knowing what a klutz I am, there's probably going to beeeee a next time. And a next time. And a nex—"

His lips on mine silence me. Which is cheating times two because I haven't wanted to kiss him—no, wait—I've _wanted _to kiss him, I just haven't wanted…

He's scrambling my brain. His lips are scrambling my brain.

"Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater," I breathe when he moves his mouth across my cheek and to the sensitive spot just below my ear.

And then I'm on my back on the couch and he's half on top of me and kissing back up my neck to my lips. His chest is against mine, but he won't stay, he keeps moving up and down back against me. It feels good. Like a fever spark everywhere we touch, and it goes off each time we come together again.

"You're so good at this," I tell him just before his mouth covers mine again.

"I was practicing," he breathes and drags his mouth slowly against mine. Whoa. "Just for you."

"No more practicing," I whisper.

"Only with you," he says and his kiss makes me feel like I'm spinning out of control.

I keep him with me that night because I can't let go of him.

**. . .**

Jamie is bummed because I want to take a break from running at six thirty in the morning.

"If you break the routine, you're setting yourself up to fail, Bella."

"It's just temporary, I promise. Just for a week or so," I tell him.

He shakes his head at me. "It's up to you. You know your body the best."

I do. And right now, my body wants to rest. Preferably, right next to Edward.

We're at lunch, so I look over at Edward's table to see what he's up to. Actually, I've done this repeatedly without realizing it until Jasper gives me a look.

Edward's still surrounded by a harem, but I notice he's sitting beside Emmett and is all but ignoring the girl on the other side of him.

_Good._

When Jamie takes our trays up to the trash, Jasper's socked hand raises.

"Jasper wants to know what's going on with you and Edward," he says.

"Just the usual," I tell Sprock and pull his tongue.

Jasper moves Sprock out of my reach. "Jasper doesn't believe that anymore."

"Well, you can tell Jasper he can believe whatever he wants."

Sprock looks at Jasper, then back at me. "What if what Jasper believes is something that could get you both in trouble?"

_What?_

I raise my eyes to Jasper's face and my heart starts pounding at the knowing look in his gaze. He looks heartbroken. And suddenly I want to cry.

"What's wrong?" Jamie calls as I run past him.

"She'll be fine," Jasper says. "Just give her a few minutes."

In the restroom, I lock myself in a stall and fall to the toilet. I'm shaking.

I keep replaying the look on Jasper's face—the depth of sorrow that I hadn't seen since his father had died.

I have no idea what I'm supposed to tell him. Or how.

**. . .**

**Bella's riddle question answer for Edward: Silence.**

**Also, I seriously doubt any doctor would prescribe Vicodin for a child with just a broken pinky, but it suited my evil purposes.**


	22. Trust

**So, did anyone catch the character oopsie last chapter? I left it as-is just to see if anybody says anything…**

**. . .**

In history class, between Mr. Robertson's long-winded, monotonous discourse about The Cold War and more than I ever wanted to know about the Berlin Wall, I write Jasper a note.

_Are you mad at me?_

He frowns over at me after he reads the note, then shakes his head. I take the note back.

_Are you disgusted then?_

Again, he shakes his head. I sigh and take the note back again.

_Then what?_

He bends his head and begins to scribble. He takes his time. Under my desk, my knee is bouncing, bouncing. If he's not mad or disgusted, then what is he?

Mr. Robertson is watching us now. He knows something is going on. My heart starts pounding as he pauses right in the middle of his speech about the four zones of Germany and Berlin, and is he ever going to stop talking about that? In addition to feeling bored and anxious, now I feel guilty. I'm being a bad student.

This is torture.

Forever later, Jasper finally passes me the note after Mr. Robertson waxes on while looking at a different row of students. Still feeling guilty, but not able to wait a second more, I read what he wrote:

_I am not anything but sad for you right now, if what I think is right. But I want to talk to you about it, and not here at school. I don't want to cause trouble. I don't want to make you cry, so I'm sorry about that. Can you tell Edward we have an assignment and come with me to my house after school?_

I want to lay my head against the desk. Jasper isn't going to let me take the easy way out.

And after school, when I tell Edward I want him to drop me off with Jasper, he's less than thrilled.

"Why don't you work on that assignment together at home? Then Dad can take Jasper home when you're done."

Uhhh…

"I have a specific book at home that we need," Jasper tells him.

Edward looks at me. He's not happy.

"Jasper's got a book all about the Berlin Wall. It has pictures and everything," I say.

"Fine. But you'll have to call Dad for a ride home. I've got to work."

"That's okay," I tell him.

I don't like the look in his eyes as he drops us off. It's like he's jealous or something, and he has no reason to be.

"That was close," Jasper tell me as he unlocks his front door.

"Tell me about it," I agree.

"What are you going to tell him? Not the truth, I hope."

We stand just inside the door looking at each other. "We tell each other everything, Jasper."

He nods, puts his book bag down, then heads for the kitchen. I walk after him with my book bag cradled in my arms.

Jasper pours us some milk, and then gets out a package of Oreos. I can't even think of eating anything right now, so I just twist one of the cookie ends off and stare down at the white icing. It's double-stuffed.

He pushes Sprock my way, but Sprock can't help me the way he helps Jasper, so I shake my head and push him back. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jasper slide him on.

"So … is Jasper wrong?" When Sprock talks, Jasper's voice sounds confident, but when it's just Jasper talking, he sounds like a kid.

The Oreo becomes my focus point. It fills my vision, leaving room for nothing else.

"What does Jasper think?"

"That you and Edward are closer than a normal brother and sister should be. Closer than Alice is to Emmett, anyway."

I gulp. "Alice and Emmett aren't close at all."

"But you and Edward are. Always have been. And it looks like you're getting even closer. True?"

I nod. "Yes. Do … do you think people notice?"

"Not like Jasper has. But you two stare at each other all the time at school. Someone could easily notice. And Edward is over-protective."

My heart is beating in my throat and I can hear myself gasping. I can't look at Jasper. What does he think?

"He's not going to tell anyone, Bella."

I'm crying now. "I'm sorry."

"Don't cry." Jasper's voice. "Don't cry!"

I giggle at his boyish panic and it helps to center me. Sprock shoves a napkin my way, and I dab at my eyes.

"If he's not going to tell, why is he doing this?" I ask.

Jasper/Sprock takes a long moment to think. "One, to see if he was out of his mind imagining anything. Two, if he wasn't imagining anything, to warn his friends to be more careful."

I finally find the courage to raise my face to Jasper's. His blue-gray eyes are sad, but understanding, and I can't see any judgment in them. Just … Jasper.

"I don't know how it happened," I whispered. "I just … one day, I woke up and knew that I loved him like a girl loves a boy."

"And he feels the same way?" Jasper whispers back.

I swallow and nod. "He tried to fight it. But we need each other."

"You should tell Edward to back off a little bit," Sprock says. "He came on really strong with James."

I twist another Oreo apart, but my grip is too hard and the top half of the cookie breaks in half. "I know."

"James might get suspicious."

"I know."

"What are you doing with James anyway?"

I flush. "Running, mostly. We kissed once. I, uh, I like him. I thought I liked him more until … until I realized that I love Edward."

"Are you using James to make Edward jealous?"

"No!"

"Better let him go, then."

"He's a friend."

"But not like I'm a friend, though."

And I flush again. Damn it. "What am I supposed to say to him?"

Jasper shrugs. "Haven't a clue. I'm just a sock."

I glare at him.

"Should I tell everyone then?"

Jaspers eyes widen. "You mean like-like—"

"Tell Rose, Alice and Emmett," I say.

"_No," _he says emphatically. "Definitely not. They won't understand. Especially Emmett and Alice."

And I feel like crying again, because that's what I thought and to have it confirmed hurts.

"Being in love should be a _good_ thing," I say.

And after a moment, "But it's _not_," Jasper whispers, and he pats my back awkwardly when I cry again.

It helps, a little, to know that he's on my side.

**. . .**

After Charlie goes to bed, I go to Edward's bedroom. He's surprised. Usually, he comes to me.

He kisses me sweetly, and I wish I didn't have to tell him what I need to say.

"Jasper knows about us," I blurt.

Edward backs up a foot. Now he's _really _surprised. "You _told _him?"

"No. He guessed. He's noticed how we are with each other. He says we're becoming too obvious and other people might notice."

"Obvious? How?"

And he grabs my hand and drags me to the bed. We sit and face each other. Edward is mad, just like I thought he would be.

"He says we stare at each other too often. And the way you talked to Jamie that one time at lunch? He said he knows we've always been close, but he can tell we're getting closer. He just wants us to be more careful."

Edward's hands are clenching and unclenching, and he's grinding his teeth.

"He's not going to tell anyone, Edward," I whisper and wrap my fingers around one of his wrists. "He's on our side."

He stands up, breaking my hold on him. "I wish you hadn't told him."

I go stand behind him. "I _didn't. _He _guessed_."

He whirls on me. "Well, you should have told him he was nuts or something and denied it."

Now I back up a step. "But how? I love you. I can't hide that. And he doesn't care. Plus, I kind of like that he knows."

He growls and forks his fingers through his hair. "It's no one's business, Bella, least of all _Jasper's._"

"He is our friend. He is not going to tell anyone," I say, hoping to calm him.

"That's such bullshit," he says. "Pretty soon Alice, Rose and Emmett are going to know, too. And then we'll be separated and friendless and Dad will probably hate us. _You shouldn't have told him_."

"No," I say and wrap my arms around his stiff body. "That's not going to happen. Don't you trust me?"

He pushes my arms away, and then shakes me hard back and forth. "It's not about trusting _you_. It's about trusting someone _else_ with our secret."

"Stop!"

He releases me and pulls me to his chest, where his hug is as hard as the shaking was. I can't hardly breathe, but I don't mind as long as he'll just hold me.

"You can talk to Jasper yourself," I sob. "And then you'll see."

"All is see right now is that you've betrayed us." He kisses me on the cheek, then pushes me towards the door. "We're sleeping in our own beds tonight."

"No, please," I say and drag my feet, but he's relentless.

"Bella. Go."

"Tell me you love me first."

He cradles my face in the palms of his hands, but his stare is dark and angry. "I love you. More than anything. But I'm pissed right now, and I want to be alone."

"Okay," I say and move away from his touch. And when my back is to him, he catches me up in another hug.

"I _do_ love you," he whispers.

But he's shutting me out anyway.

**. . .**

The drive to school is tense the next morning. Jasper came out of his house with Sprock already on his hand, so he must have anticipated how things would be this morning.

"What exactly do you think you know?" Edward barks at him before we've even left the driveway.

I turn to give Jasper a look of sympathy, but Edward catches my chin in his hand.

"Don't look at him," he says.

And so I sigh and keep my eyes forward as ordered by the tyrant.

"I know you and Bella love each other the way a boyfriend and girlfriend do," Jasper says in his boy voice. He must know better than to have Sprock speak for him now. Edward's only ever tolerated the idea of Sprock.

"And how the hell do you think you know that?"

"From the way you treat each other. From the way you look at each other."

"What if I tell you you're a damn liar?"

I gasp quietly.

"I guess I'd understand why you'd say that, but I'm not going to tell anyone, Edward."

"I'll deny it, you know. If you go shooting off your mouth, I'll deny it and make you look like a fucking idiot. And so will Bella, because she knows if she doesn't, we'll never see each other again."

I'm looking at Edward with tears in my eyes and trying not to sob. I hate that I cry so easily anymore. And he's talking like a crazy person and scaring me.

"You're not going to have to do that," Jasper assures Edward.

"Good. You can find your own way to school and home from now on."

"_No,"_ I say.

"It's okay, Bella," Jasper says.

"No, it's not. If you won't take Jasper anymore, I'll ride the bus with him."

Edward gives me a hard look. "Then you'll ride the bus with him."

Which is what I do because Edward wasn't kidding, and I'm not backing down. And in the weeks that follow, Edward begins distancing himself from me, until the only times we kiss are when we fight and he just can't seem to help himself. He won't sleep with me anymore, but he makes up for it with his hugs.

I won't allow him to escape far.

**. . .**

Jamie and I are at Pizza Hut when Edward, Emmett and two girls I don't know walk in. I'm telling Jamie about my idea for an art assignment and stop mid-word when I see Edward put his hand against the dark-haired girls back.

Jamie turns to see what's caught my attention. "That's your brother," he says and looks at me like I'm crazy.

I suddenly feel crazy.

"He's supposed to be at work," I mutter. And what is he doing out with a girl?

As they settle at one of the booths, Edward finally notices me noticing him. He freezes for a long moment, then visibly sighs. Then? He ignores me. Fricken _ignores _me like I don't exist, like I'm not here, like I don't even matter.

"Are you okay?" Jamie asks me slowly.

No. I am not okay. I don't know if I'll ever be okay again. "I'm just surprised to see him is all," I say. "Do you know either of the girls that are with them?"

"Kate Townsend and Irina Clark. They're juniors. Edward's with Kate."

I nod like my world isn't crashing down. "Juniors. What are they doing dating sophomores?"

Jamie smiles. "Your brother and Emmett are big men on campus, Bella. Don't you know that? I thought Emmett was dating your friend Rosalie, though."

Big men on campus? What a crock. "Rosalie wants to date other people," I say proudly. "And obviously my brother's work ethic sucks if he's here now when he should be working. So much for big men on campus, huh?"

"Perception is everything," Jamie says and his smile is slightly evil.

"Do you mind if we trade seats?" I ask him. I don't want to keep looking over there.

"How about you just sit here next to me?" he asks with a bigger smile.

"Perfect."

And I don't even feel guilty.

Okay, maybe I do, but because it's at Jamie's expense. Edward can go poop up a rope.

When we leave, I don't even glance behind me. Edward isn't here, doesn't exist, and doesn't even matter.

But oh, it hurts.

**. . .**

It's almost time for bed when Edward comes knocking on my bedroom door. I meet him at the door and hold the frame in such a way that he knows he's not invited in.

His eyes are soft and cautious, something they haven't been in a long time. Seeing him with that expression makes me lose my breath a little.

"Yes?" I ask crisply.

"I wanted to explain about today," he says lowly in the tone of voice that usually melts my bones.

"What's to explain? You blew off work to go on a date."

"No, you've got that wrong," he says and makes to enter my room. I don't back up, so now I'm nose-to-chest with him.

"Pretty sure I'm right," I say and glare at the decal on his t-shirt.

He wraps an arm around my waist, picks me up, and comes inside and closes the door all in one move. I'm impressed, but still mad.

"I didn't say you could come in," I huff when he sets me back on my feet.

"I didn't ask," he says.

"Well, you should have!"

Then he backs me up against the wall and kisses me. I raise my hands to push him away, but my fingers get stuck grabbing his shirt instead. The kiss quickly grows out of control and soon we're knocking our teeth together because we're coming at each other so hard.

"I miss you," I gasp brokenly.

He groans and buries his head in my shoulder as he molds my body against his. I can feel his erection against my stomach and it excites and frightens me. When he starts kissing my neck and shoving his fingers under my shirt, I push him away.

"You said I got it wrong?" I say.

We're both breathing hard. In an act of anger and defiance and disrespect, I drop my eyes to his crotch, something I've only ever done on the sly before. His hand lowers to caress the long length pushing against his jeans, and I turn inferno red.

"Like what you do to me?"

"Get out," I say and yank the door open.

Dad's coming up the stairs, so Edward makes short work of it scooting from my room to his.

"Aren't you two ever going to get along again?" he asks.

"Not unless Edward matures," I say.

"Well, goodnight to you both," Dad calls loudly enough for Edward to hear behind his closed door.

"Night, Dad," Edward calls back.

"Night," I say and kiss his cheek.

"No more fighting," he says. "Go to sleep."

Oh, if only I could.

Edward IMs me not five minutes later.

"_It was a double-date for Emmett. He likes Irina. Kate likes me, but I don't like her. I just did it for Emmett."_

"You need to get over yourself," I type back furiously. "Calling off work just to go out with a girl who you know likes you, but you don't like her? You're a jerk."

"_I didn't have to work today. I lied and said I did so you wouldn't know I was going out, okay? I'm sorry. I fucked up."_

"What does it matter anyway? If you're already telling me lies, there's nothing to discuss. Goodnight."

And I click out of the IM.

I have trouble falling asleep, but when I finally do, I'm awakened when I feel Edward against my body. He covers my mouth immediately with his and I already feel as if I'm in a dream. I wrap my arms around him with a little moan and he shoves his way between my legs so he can press himself against me. Every time he kisses me, he pushes the fire down a little deeper, until we're surging up and against each other and I feel like I'm about to explode.

"I love you, I love you," he whispers in between kisses. And I want to say it back, but I can't catch my breath and then I _am _exploding and I'm a live wire against his erection, which he keeps grinding against me until he goes still with a long, drawn-out groan. I feel heat against my stomach where he came in his pants as he collapses against me with unsteady, heavy breaths.

I just had an orgasm. And so did he.

But we're supposed to be fighting.

"You cheated," I tell him, but it doesn't sound very accusatory because I'm still in the after stages of bliss.

His head raises. "I know. I couldn't help it. I needed you. And I'm sorry."

"You lied to me."

His head sinks back to my shoulder. "Yes."

"Don't do it again."

He kisses my neck. "I won't."

"I thought you weren't dating anyone else since we … you know."

"I'm not," he says and bites me gently. "This was just a favor to Emmett."

"And that girl—Kate—she knows this?"

"She knows now. I told her after I took her home."

"How'd she take it?"

"She was pissed."

Like I would have been.

"I won't let you keep jerking me around like this, you know," I tell him.

"I know, Bella."

"You wouldn't let _me _treat _you_ this way."

"I wouldn't."

"So stop," I say simply, like he said once to me.

He rolls off of me and on to his back. "I have to go clean up," he says with distaste.

"Come back," I tell him.

And he does.


	23. Down to a Whisper

The day after my first orgasm, I stand in front of my sliding glass closet doors and stare at my naked body. I run my fingers across my chest, down my midriff, lower, and lightly touch myself there, but my temperature only raises because I'm embarrassed.

Even though it happened over seven hours ago, I am still amazed at the feeling my body gave me, that Edward rubbing against me made me feel. It was … amazing. I never knew I could feel such an amazing … feeling.

After a few moments, I realize that I'm finally happy with the size of my boobs, and the soft swell of my hips. Maybe I should be proud of my figure, like Rose is always telling me. I strike a duck pose and stick my tongue out at my reflection.

And then I wonder what Edward would think if he could see me right now. Would he laugh? Would he be turned on?

I tilt my head, cock my hip, push my chest out and move my shoulders back. My hair, which is still wet from my shower, is leaking down my back to my buttocks, so I do a shimmy. And see my boobs bounce. And then I'm laughing because I feel like a dork, but I decide that Edward would freak the eff out, in a good way, if he saw me now.

But I'm not ready for that. I'm not ready for him to see me naked, and I'm not ready to see him naked. And I don't understand how Jessica could have wanted that. I mean, she's the same age I am. Wasn't she embarrassed? Wasn't she anything? She let Edward stick his dick in her. And he—

No, I can't think about that. It's creeping me out and making me mad all over again and—oh crap, I'm going to be late for the bus if I don't move it

Edward, who's sitting at the kitchen table eating Frosted Flakes, is visibly disappointed that I'm taking the bus again. "When are you going to drop this?"

"When you apologize to Jasper."

And he will, I know it. Once enough time has passed and he realizes Jasper really isn't out to hurt us, he'll get over it and he'll say he's sorry, and then Jasper won't have that sad frown anymore.

And I'm out the door and running the two streets over to the bus stop. Jasper is there already. He got his braces off a few days ago, and he's still running his tongue over his teeth and saying, "Ohhhhh, what a great feeling."

"Are you running with Jamie again yet?" he asks once we're seated in the back of the bus.

"No. I'm, uh, kind of going to draw back from him," I say and shrug.

"Because of E?"

"Absolutely not," I say. "He doesn't control me."

Jasper starts laughing.

"Shut up. He doesn't. I'm taking a step away from Jamie because I don't want to hurt him."

I can see Jasper's tongue moving across his teeth under his lips. It looks weird. "So you're just going to give up running?"

"No, I go running when I get home from school … um, the days I don't have practice, I mean."

"I can't believe you've stuck with it," he says and grins at his reflection in the window.

"Well, believe it. Stop looking at your teeth, you freak."

"I can't help it. You don't know what it feels like to have metal on your teeth and then suddenly, you don't."

"You're going to scare the girls away if you keep doing that."

He rolls his eyes at me.

Rose doesn't come to school that day or the next day, which is Friday. So me and Jasper take the bus over to her place after school because she's not answering her phone and we're worried.

It takes a long time for someone to answer the front door, and when we see Rose's mom, we're surprised. She's not usually home at this time of day because she's still at work. She has dark smudges under her eyes, which are obviously red from crying.

"Mrs. Halliburton? Are you okay?" I ask softly.

"Bella, Jasper, now's not a good time," she answers and sniffs.

"But what's wrong? I've been trying to get ahold of Rose and she's not answering her phone."

Behind me, Jasper grabs my hand and holds it tight because something is awfully wrong.

"She's in the hospital. I'm just on my way there."

"The hospital?" I echo. "But why? Is she okay?"

"She was attacked. You should talk to your dad, Bella. He'll tell you what happened."

_Attacked? Rose was attacked? _And Dad knew? But he hadn't said a thing about anything…

Jasper and I trade looks.

"Do you kids need a ride home? Oh, come in, come in. I'm sorry." And she backs up and motions us inside. Jasper and I step through the doorway as if in a daze. I watch Mrs. Halliburton shrug on her coat in the silence, which is crushing with the realization that Rose isn't home, and is seriously hurt.

**. . .**

I pounce on Dad as soon as he steps inside the front door.

"What's happened to Rose?"

"Bella," he sighs. "Let me get my coat off and put my gun away, okay? Then we'll talk."

I nod and stand there while he takes off his coat, then I follow him to his room and watch him stow his gun in the top drawer.

"You going to follow me to the bathroom, too?" he asks.

"I'll wait down here," I sigh. "Hurry up, please."

I'm all but tapping my toe when he finally reappears.

"Dinner about ready?" he asks.

"About," I say.

I'm mad at him for keeping this from me. I'm not able to punish him like he can do with me, so I made tuna casserole for dinner: his not-so-favorite. I was even stingy with the cheese, and the potato chip crust he loves? _Non-existent_.

"Alright, let's go sit."

So we sit and my knee is bouncing. Dad stares at it as he begins talking.

"I just learned of this late last night. You were already in bed and I wasn't about to wake you."

I nod. I understand. Please get on with it, Dad.

"Bella…" He dry-scrubs his face with his hands and I'm about to burst.

"Dad, please, just tell me. Is Rose going to be okay?"

"Rose … Rose was beaten and … raped, Bella."

I gasp from the depths of my soul.

"She's banged up pretty badly, too, so I don't know if it's a good idea for you to see her yet—"

"Eff that, Dad! I don't care what she looks like! I want to go see her now."

And I stand up and race to the kitchen to turn off the stove, because we're going right now.

"Bella." He's behind me. His hands come to rest on my shoulders. "Bella. She won't want you to see her like … as she is."

I'm shaking my head. "She won't care, Dad."

"_I _care," he says.

"I don't care," I say and spin to face him. "You didn't let us see Mom and it might have made a difference if we had. Now I want to go and see my friend. Please."

He bows his head, but before he does I see that his eyes are sad, so sad. "It's not up to me," he says. "It's up to Rose and her parents."

Tears choke my throat at the idea that they won't let me see her.

Dad gets Mr. Halliburton on the line, who then puts Mrs. Halliburton on the line. Then, he hands the phone to me.

"Mrs. Halliburton? I want to come and see Rose," I say thinly. "Please."

"Oh, Bella, not today, honey. Rose has had a long day and is sleeping now. She's on morphine, so she's just sleeping anyway."

"No," I say. "I want to come and see her. Please, I need to come and see her."

She pauses, and then, "Tomorrow after one o'clock. And Bella? Please keep in mind that she … she doesn't look like herself. At all," she whispers.

"I don't care," I whisper back.

I don't care at all.

But the next day as I'm walking with Dad down the hospital's corridor, I care so much that my whole body is shaking.

Dad, who has his arm around my shoulders, notices. "It's gonna be okay, Bell. She's gonna be okay, too. Just … it's going to take time."

I nod because I can't talk.

"She's not going to look so good," he warns as we come to room 301. And his hands are firm on my shoulders and he's giving me a look I haven't ever seen before from him, something between fear and firmness and sympathy.

"I know," I tell him with a warble in my voice. "But I've seen bad things happen to people I love before."

And his eyes close. "Oh, my girl, my poor girl." He hugs me tightly. "I just want to protect you."

I sniff back the tears. "But you can't."

He lets me go, but keeps one of his hands on my back as I move toward the door. We stop when I take a moment to swallow and take a breath. I know this is going to hurt.

But until I see her, I didn't know how _much _it would hurt.

I'm crushing the teddy bear in my hands, and then crushing it against my chest and wishing it was Rose. She's mercifully unconscious, with a tube running into her nose and a tube attached to her her arm. There's even a heart monitor.

But it's her face I can't tear my eyes away from. She's red and purple from forehead to chin, with a bandage over one eye and a bandage around her head that covers almost the entire left side of her face.

"Where's her hair?" I sob.

Mrs. Halliburton comes to stand on the other side of Rose.

"They had to cut it, but it will grow back in just fine," she croons and strokes the skin of Rose's exposed arm.

Dad's hands are firm again on my shoulders and I've never been so grateful to have him around than right now. I reach up and grab one of his hands and hold it, just hold it.

"Who could do this?" I whisper.

"Hopefully Rose can tell us," Dad says. "When she wakes up and feels better, hopefully she can tell us."

I set the teddy bear on the stand beside Rose's head and step closer to the bed. I'm afraid to touch her, so I grab on to the guard rail and stare at her face until I can't see it anymore.

"You're going to be okay," I whisper to her brokenly, but no one but me understands what I've said because it comes out as gibberish.

Finally, Dad has to drag me away.

**. . .**

The whole school is rocked by Rose's attack. It's all I hear about as I walk from my locker to first period, from Social Studies to Art, to the restroom and to lunch, until I just want to scream at everyone to shut up.

Rose loves being the center of attention, but not this kind of attention. She's already broken, and everyone's talking about her like she wouldn't care about what they were saying, and I know very well it would just break her all over again.

In English class, when Bree Holiday whispers to Lauren James about how Rose's face might be forever disfigured, I lose it. I lose it badly.

"Shut the hell up you vicious, fuckwitted ugly cow! She could lose an eyeball and still outshine your sad looking skull!" And I shove her books off her desk and go to bang on her, but Jamie wraps his arms around me and hauls me away screaming.

They give me a pass that time, due to Rose being my friend and losing Mom not so long ago. Obviously, they think I'm cracking up.

Everyone is quiet around me after that, but I feel the loudness of their stares.

I feel like I am cracking up.

**. . .**

I'm on my sixth circuit around the neighborhood when Edward catches up with me. He's wearing sweats and a white t-shirt, and has goose bumps on his arms.

"You didn't stretch first, did you?" I pant.

"Yes, I did, it's just cold," he says.

"I'm not even close to done," I tell him.

"I can keep up," he says.

And he does … for three circuits, until he starts falling back.

"C'mon, Bella. Enough's enough. I hear you wheezing."

But I press on because I have to press on.

He takes me down on my tenth time around and I crash to the grass with an oomph. I'm gasping and my legs and lungs are burning, but it's not enough.

He grips my arm hard. "She'll be alright, you know, whether you puke here on Valley Meadows Road or in the park or in the toilet."

I cough and gasp.

"If she had her choice, she'd tell you to go for the toilet. More privacy," he says and pulls me to my feet.

Now I'm gasping and crying and trying to hide it, but he knows and drags me into his embrace.

"She'd hate you crying for her like this," he says into my neck and I don't know how he can stand it because I know I stink.

"I know," I wail. "Don't tell her."

Finally, I'm down to hiccups and slow breaths.

"Let's go eat some chili dogs and watch some Angel," he says and steers me towards home.

I give him a double-take. "Since when—when do you?"

"Those are Rose's favorites, right?"

"Well. Yes. But—"

He draws me close and kisses my forehead. "So let's do something fun with her in mind. Much better than killing ourselves by running to death and feeling sorry for her, don't you think?"

I grumble, but he's right. And after a shower, some chili dogs and a couple of Angel episodes, I feel better than I have in a week.

But when Rose comes home a couple of days later, she can't or won't remember who attacked her, and she's nothing like she used to be. In fact, she hardly says a word to anyone anymore. For weeks, she keeps everyone—even me and Alice—at arm's length. And when she finally relents, it's with Emmett of all people.

Emmett is also nothing like he used to be. The clown act has been replaced by a quiet, serious guy who looks and acts like he's Rose's bodyguard. Which, when it comes right down to it, is what he is now.

And things are changing all over again.

**. . .**

**A time jump is coming up next chapter.**


	24. Last Dance

**Here's an extra long chapter to make up for the radio silence and FF fail.**

**. . .**

It's a long time—three months later in fact—before Rose gets her swagger back. After she told us she was okay soon after the attack, she didn't want to discuss it much. Or ever. It was like she was determined to pretend that it never happened.

"I have to talk about it with my shrink, and that's more than enough," she told us. "I don't want to rehash what I can't remember. And don't _want _to remember."

But she won't go out after dark, and she won't wear anything even remotely provocative.

She's not dating anyone anymore. She kind of hangs around with Emmett, who obviously wants more, but Emmett is smart and doesn't push her. He's just happy she wants him around at all.

When winter rolls into spring, they're quasi-dating. They eat dinner together, watch movies and hold hands. They are known as Rose-and-Emmett, not just Rose and Emmett.

And her attackers are still free, something that the rest of us actively hate whenever Rose isn't around. Jasper and I are always looking at people who look at Rose. Could that boy be the one? Is his stare a little long, a little derogative, a little too self-satisfied?

We become unsuccessful sleuths, but we're not giving up.

The summer Jasper turns 17, he finally grows into his gangly limbs and I tell him that he has a sexy nose. His features, no longer too thin and pointy, are as patrician as Edward's, only in a different way. Where Edward's all jaw and cheekbones, Jasper is all eyes, nose and lips.

Which doesn't go unnoticed by Alice, which thrills Jasper to Kingdom Come and back. Sprock doesn't appear as often as he used to, but Jasper still keeps him in a pocket and by his side at all times. Except when Alice is around. For some reason, he likes making Sprock talk to Alice. And Alice, who is nervous around Jasper sometimes for whatever reason, loves trading quips with the sock.

I don't get it, but Jasper is in 7th heaven. If he was any more thrilled, he'd float.

In the fall, we learn that a Notre Dame scout has seen Edward win enough fencing bouts that they want to give him a scholarship. Dad is through the roof and thinks Edward should accept, but Edward and I are reluctant to be parted and so Edward takes his time thinking about it.

"It's only a couple of hours away," he tells me. "I can come home on the weekends."

I nod and try not to let him see how sad I am at the thought of his absence. There's no way he can't _not_ accept.

"Your professors will all probably be priests," I tell him.

He winces and shrugs. "They can't stop us from talking every day," he says and squeezes my hand.

"I'm going to miss you so much," I cry.

"Bella. I'm not going anywhere for another year," he says.

But I have the feeling that the year is going to pass like wildfire.

**. . .**

Nerves and stress do strange things to my body—they make me itch in embarrassing places at the worst possible moment. We actually have quite a few photos of baby, toddler and little girl me scratching inside my nose or at my crotch.

"It's nothing to be ashamed about," Mom had giggled when I demanded to know why the photos had been saved, _let alone taken. _"You were just a little girl."

I'm no longer a little girl, but I'm still feeling the worst urge to scratch somewhere embarrassing.

It's the spring of my junior year, and I'm taking the SAT on a Saturday morning in the Liberal Arts Building at IPFW. I'm feeling constipated, nervous and itchy. This is my dry run, because I'll take the SAT again in the fall.

_Are people better at making observations, discoveries and decisions if they remain neutral and impartial? _

Maybe if when we were born, we stayed that way, I write. But we're not, because everybody's opinionated and biased and reality keeps defining itself and _ugh_. I erase everything.

I hate writing essays. They make my brain hurt.

An hour later when I have to try and calculate the growth of bacteria, I scratch the inside of my nose unobtrusively.

Edward's waiting for me when I get done. We decide to go out for lunch to celebrate me getting through the test.

"How do you think you did?" he asks.

I shrug. Under the table of the booth we're sitting in, his foot hooks mine.

"Pretty sure I did poorly in math, a little better at the science part, and a little better than that at the English part."

Edward took the test last year and got a score of 2100, which is way above-average. With his fencing skills, he could probably get into Harvard, but he doesn't want to be that far away. Thank God.

"I'm sure you did great," he says and goes to grab my hand which is laying on the table, but we're interrupted by a girl who comes to say hi to him.

"Jane," Edward acknowledges the blond girl who's standing at the side of our table. She must know I'm his sister, because after a glance at me, she completely ignores me.

"I haven't seen you around lately. You've been missed." And she flips her hair behind her back and then leans against our table.

"I've been busy," Edward says shortly.

He hates this as much as I do. Girls are always coming on to him, at least it seems that way to me because they always seem to do it when I'm around. And I can't say or do anything that would suggest he's mine, that he's taken, and neither can he.

"Doesn't look like you're busy now," she says playfully. I'm concentrating so hard on the menu that it would burst into flames if my stare was any hotter. "Why don't you come sit with us in the back?"

Edward feet encase one of mine and squeezes.

"No," he says, also shortly. "We're fine right here, but thank you."

Her stare swings to me. "Jamie's there, too."

If she knows that much, then she knows that Jamie and I are just friends.

"I said no, Jane. I'll see you around."

She straightens with a hiss. "Geeze, what crawled up your ass? I'm just trying to be friendly."

He levels her with one of his cold stares. "If that was true, then you would have said hi to Bella, too."

After Jane flounces away, his hand brushes mine briefly. "I'm sorry," he says.

I smile sadly in answer. It's not his fault Jane wants him and he just won't give in.

"You handle this so well," he tells me lowly. "I don't think I would if it was some boy over here for you."

My smile widens. "I _know _you wouldn't. Good thing I'm not as pretty as you are."

"It's me that stops them, Bella. The boys know better than to mess with you when I'm around," he says darkly. "Next year when I'm not here …"

"Nothing's going to happen with anyone," I say. "I'm not that kind of girl. There's only one person I'm interested in."

The stormy look on his face lessens somewhat, but he's obviously still thinking of next year when he won't be here, so I kick him lightly.

"How am I supposed to know what you're going to be doing next year when you're _gone?_" I ask. "Who's to say you won't fall for some smart Notre Dame chick?"

He answers me simply by the look in his eyes, and I go breathless at the soft, tender look of love I see in them. I want to go to him, be by him. I want to kiss him. And I can tell he does, too.

But of course, we can't.

**. . .**

In mid-April, Edward is nominated for the senior prom King and is less than thrilled because if he wins, he'll have to attend prom.

Against Edward's wishes, me, Rose and Alice start a _don't vote Edward Swan for Prom King _campaign. Only I didn't count on anybody thinking that was just a joke, and how popular the idea would be. Before I know it, the whole school seems to be pro-Edward for prom King.

"Whose stupid idea _was _this?" he wants to know as he glares at the three of us.

"Mine," Alice says. "You weren't going to win unless we did this campaign."

Rose and I gasp and turn on her.

What the?

"Sorry," she shrugs. "But I didn't want Levi Johnson or Stuart Plant to win."

"Traitor!" I hiss.

"Good one," Rose laughs.

"You're going to pay for this," Edward tells her with a glare.

"Oh come on, Edward. You're the closest we'll get to knowing someone on the Royal Court. Plus, the girls want to see you with that crown on your head."

I don't want to see him with a crown on his head. Or, dancing with some girl in front of the whole school. No, I'm sure I can't see that without suffering somehow.

"Like I said, Alice," Edward growls.

"Don't do anything to hurt her," Jasper tells him. "She didn't do this to be mean."

Edward glares at him and they trade looks for long seconds, but Jasper doesn't back down.

"Edward's not going to do anything to Alice," I tell Jasper. "But she better watch out for me."

"Piece of cake," Alice says and she and Rose crack up laughing.

They're both dirty traitors.

And now I have to decide if I want to go to prom or not. Would it be easier if I was at the dance, too, or easier if I just stayed home?

Neither idea sounds promising, but when Jamie asks if maybe I want to go with him, I say yes.

Edward's not happy about it.

"So you're going to dance with him all night because I'm going to dance once with the prom queen?"

"I doubt we'll dance all night," I tell him. "I have two left feet, remember? And besides, we're going as _friends _and that makes all the difference."

"If you're just friends, then why did he ask you to go?"

"Because Jamie knows prom is a girl thing. He probably thought I wanted to go."

"Don't you?"

"No. But I think it'll be better than staying at home and wondering what's going on," I say and wrap my arms around him. He's stiff, even as he wraps his arms around me, too.

"I don't think that would be better," he says.

"Of course you don't."

"Why doesn't Jamie get himself a girlfriend? Hasn't he given up on you yet?"

I sigh. "He's not trying to push himself on me, Edward. He knows we're just friends."

"How can you be so sure? Have you seen yourself lately?"

I frown up at him. "What do you mean?"

He gazes down at me with black eyes. "Well, you're gorgeous. Irresistible."

I burst out laughing, but his lips against mine silence me. It's a hard, desperate kiss that lets me know he isn't joking.

"How can you be just mine if you're going to the dance with him," he growls in between kisses.

"Same way you're just mine," I growl back.

His new thing is sliding a leg between mine and pushing it up against me. He won't let us get naked to give each other orgasms, but he doesn't mind doing it while we're clothed. So right there against the wall inside the front door at home, he kisses me breathless, palms my breasts, and makes me rut against him until I see stars.

"You _are _mine," he says after.

I don't know how he can doubt it.

**. . . **

My prom dress is almost scandalous. It's a low-back chiffon A-line, floor-length dress with thin straps and a lace bodice. The champagne color almost matches the tone of my skin, and it looks like a nightgown. I feel like a beautiful princess in it.

I decided at the last moment that I wanted to wear something daring. I don't get a lot of male attention at school, I know Jamie and I are just friends, and I want to drive Edward a little crazy. Which is kind of mean of me, because I know he's already crazy at the idea that I'm going with Jamie, but I want to be sexy for him. Just for tonight. And privately, I know he'll know it's just for him.

Dad about swallows his tongue when he sees me. Edward goes ram-rod straight and his face appears star-struck. And then? Then his eyes go ice-cold and disapproving. In his toe-to-black suit with a dark gray undershirt, he looks like a sexy god. An angry, sexy god.

I want to burst into tears.

"You're not going to let her wear that, are you?" he asks Dad.

Dad sputters, and then the doorbell rings.

Jamie looks as star-struck as Edward did. His face stays that way, too, something I'm relieved to see. I don't know what I would do if he looked at me with distaste like Edward did. I'm already oh-so-close to running back upstairs.

Jamie's fingers tremble as he affixes the white Calla lily on my wrist.

"Are you okay?" I whisper and hope Dad and Edward can't hear.

"Yes," he whispers back. "I've just never seen you look so beautiful before."

"It's just me," I whisper.

"Excuse me," Edward barks and startled, we break apart and away from the front door. "I'm late to pick up my date."

My mouth pops open. "You're taking someone?" I gasp.

"That's right," he glares at me.

"Who?"

"Jane."

And I have to swallow a few times before I'm able to talk. "Well, have fun. I guess I'll see you there."

He doesn't answer, just leaves, and Jamie doesn't understand the tears in my eyes. Neither does Dad, who wants us to pose for pictures before we leave.

There's not much worse than having to smile and pose when my heart is breaking.

**. . .**

Prom is being held at one of the hotels on the outskirts of town. The first thing I see when we step inside the ballroom is Emmett, because he's so tall, and Rose. Frantically, I look for Jasper—I need him right now—but he must not be here yet.

"Oh. My. God," Rose says when she sees me. Even Emmett is openly gaping.

I duck my head. I didn't realize the dress was _this_ bad.

"You look _amazing,_" she says.

"Really?"

She sees the tears in my eyes and pulls me aside so we can talk in private.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying," I tell her.

"Well, you're about to," she says and uses the tail of her single braided plait to wipe playfully at my cheeks. She's beautiful in a powder blue, short sleeved gown. Two years ago, she would have worn red.

"I just … Edward didn't like my dress," I say and look back down again.

"Of course he didn't," she says. "His little sister looks like a wet dream in that dress."

"I do not," I gasp.

She looks at me. "Bella. Every guy who's passed you tonight has given you a second look, girlfriend."

"Do I look like a slut?"

"No. You just look very, very sexy."

By the time Alice and Jasper arrive and eye me up and down like I'm a piece of art, I'm ready to find somewhere to hide. I feel a little better at seeing what Alice is wearing: a fire engine red, form-fitting dress with a thigh-high slit. Jasper, seeing my unhappiness, squeezes my arm and gives me a small smile.

"Hang in there," he whispers. "It's just one night. It'll be over soon."

I see Edward across the ballroom sitting at a table with Jane and her friends. When they get up to dance a few songs later, I see Jane's wearing a dress that's as scandalous as mine, if not more so. It looks like she's wearing a nude sheath over a bikini.

"That's … tacky," Rose says.

I'm not going to sit here and watch Edward's hands on her all-but-naked back, so I pull Jamie out onto the dance floor. He's a good dancer, doesn't hold me too close or too far away. Plus, he somehow manages to keep me from stepping on his feet or tripping over my own. When he raises my hand and gently twirls me under his arm, I laugh. I'm finally having a good time.

And then something past his shoulder catches my eye. It's Edward, and he's looking right at me. He and Jane have moved right next to us.

I avert my eyes, but just as soon, I'm trading a glare with him again until Jamie turns us and I can take a breath.

My heart is still smashing to pieces. I'm feeling the same hurt I felt when Edward asked Jessica out. Back then, I thought it was to deliberately hurt me. Is he doing the same thing now? Just because I agreed to go to the prom with Jamie? Is he punishing me because I didn't stay home? Because it's not fair if he is.

Edward and I trade looks again just as the song is coming to an end. His eyes flick down my body, but I see appreciation mixed in with the derision, and turn my face away. I won't let him try to shame me, not when his date is wearing _that._

After we've eaten dinner, which was dry chicken and runny rice, the principal announces the prom king and queen. And surprise, it's Jane and Edward. I want to barf.

Instead, I ask Jamie to take me home, but he has to use the restroom first.

As I'm waiting at the doors to leave, Edward finds me. His jacket is unbuttoned. Yeah, I bet he's hot from all that dancing. I walk away from him and head for the exit doors. Jamie can come find me.

Edward catches my wrist. "Leave the dress on tonight and meet me in the basement," he tells me lowly.

"Why? For what? You obviously don't like the dress," I say and try to act like I'm not hurt.

"I want to dance once with you, okay?"

"What if I don't want to dance with you?"

He gives me a look. "You'll dance with me."

Jamie sees us and looks at us like we're crazy. "Are you two alright?"

Edward releases my wrist. "See you shortly," he tells me and leaves, ignoring Jamie.

"What was that about?" Jamie wants to know as we walk to his car.

"Just Edward being Edward," I shrug.

"He's never liked me being with you, has he?"

I sigh. "No. But then he wouldn't like anyone with me."

And that's a truth I have no problem admitting.

Jamie tries to kiss me at the front door, but I turn my face away so he gets my cheek.

"Sorry, Jamie. Just friends, remember?"

He smiles with regret in his eyes. "Couldn't help trying."

So I kiss his cheek goodbye. It would be so much easier if I felt for him what I feel for Edward.

It's late when Edward gets home an hour later, almost midnight. Against my better judgment, I left the dress on for him. I don't know who I'm more irritated with right now: myself for doing what he wants, or him.

I'm not in the basement though, so he comes to get me.

I glare at him wordlessly as he stares at me from my bedroom doorway. He doesn't move, so I hold my skirt as I climb off the bed. He picks up the shoes I wore and waits for me to move past him.

In the basement, I don't give him a chance to talk first.

"Why did you take Jane to the prom?"

"She asked me," he said and bends down to slide the first shoe on my foot. "And I didn't want to sit at a table all night watching you, so I said yes."

No, instead he watched me all night from where ever he was. Just as I watched him. Jasper had to tell me to knock it off more than once.

I growl and use his back to stabilize myself as he lifts my second foot. Once he has it on, he backs away from me and deliberately runs his gaze slowly up and down my body. I go instantly hot at the look in his eyes, which are no longer coldly disapproving.

"You don't hate this dress?" I ask softly.

"Hell no, I don't hate the dress. I hate that you wore it for others to see, though."

And I finally see the look I was hoping for from him. He's visibly affected by the dress and I finally feel sexy and wanted and beautiful.

Edward switches the sound system on low and Nickelback's _Far Away_ begins as he slides his arms around me. Since I'm wearing heels, the top of my head comes to his mouth and it's not such a strain on my neck to look into his eyes.

"You're the only one I wanted to dance with tonight," he tells me and brings me flush up against him.

He's hard and hot all over where ever we touch. His fingers are like fire against my bare back.

I have to look away from his pretty, seductive eyes, because I have something to say.

"I know you have every right to take whoever you want to prom, but you had to know that you taking Jane was going to hurt," I say and look back up at him.

One of his hands moves down to my waist, where it tightens. "I don't have every right to take whoever I want to the prom," he tells me lowly. "I belong to you, no matter who I happen to be with at the time."

The way he stared at me then, and the way he's staring at me now, lets me know the truth of that.

"But why didn't you tell me?"

He closes his eyes and brings his forehead to mine. "I didn't want to hurt you. Until … I did."

I don't understand that. "But why would you want to hurt me at all?"

He inhales and gives me a tortured, angry kind of look. "Because I'm a selfish bastard, that's why. I didn't want you going anywhere with Jamie looking the way you did."

I frown at him. How could he not know? "I wore the dress for _you. _Not him."

He looks like I've sucked the breath from him. "For me?"

My fingers climb his shoulders and anchor in his hair, and then I pull him down to me. "Yes, for you," I say against his mouth and then bite his lower lip. "I guess I should have shown it to you first."

"No," he says as we kiss frantically. "I never would've let you wear it."

When the song ends, we're on the floor and Edward is dragging the hem of my dress up to my thighs. At first, it used to be that I was holding us back from going sexually further, but now it's him. Only it doesn't seem as if he's going to hold us back tonight …

But then he suddenly, abruptly, comes to his senses when I see his fingers go to his belt. The tortured, angry look is back as he pushes himself away from me.

Throbbing and angry myself, I sit up to yank my dress back down. "How long are you going to do this?" I demand. "How long are you going to keep turning me away?"

"I'm not going to fuck you for the first time on the basement floor," he tells me.

"Are you ever going to fuck me at all?"

He pulls me to my feet, hugs me, then moves us to the stairs.

"Don't tempt me."

But that's the thing. Tempting doesn't seem to work with him.

At all.

**. . .**

**Every time I see the **_**50 Shades of Grey**_** movie trailer come on, I have to stop whatever I'm doing and watch it. I must have seen it 50 times now.**

**Who's going to see it?**


	25. Love is a Verb

**You guys will like this one. If FF takes ES down, it'll be for this chapter.**

**. . .**

The park at the end of the road is deserted at six a.m. Jamie was right: if I can drag my bones out of bed, the early morning _is_ the best time of day. It's quiet and carries the hopeful promise of a new day. I love seeing the first rays of sunlight as I run toward the horizon, although as each day brings me closer to Edward's departure for Notre Dame, the rays seem to be getting darker and darker.

I'm not sure if I'm blowing everything out of proportion, but my anxiousness and fear about losing Edward seems to be consuming me. I do my best to hide what I'm feeling, especially from Edward because I don't want to make him feel even worse about leaving. But sometimes it just gets to me and I lose it, like what happened last night. We were ready for sleep and when he bent over to kiss me goodnight, I started crying.

Pretty soon, there will be no more goodnight kisses for me.

Or for him.

I know he's hiding the worst of his emotions because he's a guy, or maybe he feels as if he has to because I'm already so raw. Whatever the reason is, I hate it and I'm determined to break through because he can't hide it from me. I won't let him. His hurt is mine.

**. . .**

It's Edward's last tournament with his fencing club, and I'm sitting in the bleachers among a number of other females, who I suspect are here only for Edward. I'm a little surprised, because he's never mentioned he had a fan club, but I suppose it makes sense. I mean, he has a fan club at school and a fan club at Starbucks—regulars who are mostly women twice his age.

I guess he's always going to have a fan club of some sort, although the thought makes me unhappy. Why can't girls just leave him alone? Why does he have to be so beautiful? And smart? And funny?

He smiles and waves at me before he pulls his protective head gear down, and I swear I hear someone behind me sigh dreamily.

"Pamela! Did he just wave at you?"

"Yep, he sure did."

Oh, what I'd give to be able to turn around and correct them.

From the number of times I've attended his tournaments, I know now that Edward is a master of the riposte. He's good at getting his opponent to attack so that he can parry and swing right into riposte. They usually never see it coming.

Although he definitely seems off his game tonight. When the evening ends, he's in third place, something that hasn't happened in a long time. The girls behind me are eager to console him, and clomp down the bleachers noisily.

Edward's eyes flick to mine where I still sit, then he lets the girls greet and touch him. And each time they run their hands across his chest, or try to finger his hair, even though he's giving off strong _don't touch me _vibes, my insides draw tighter and tighter. They beg him to come to some party at so-and-so's house, and only after he agrees do they step back.

"So we'll see you there," the girl named Pamela says. Her jeans look like they've been painted on, while mine are a bit baggy because I've lost weight.

After the girl's turn, it's Edward's teammates and his coach. Then he has to shower and change, and so we don't get to escape for another twenty minutes.

"You're not going to that party, are you?" I ask as we walk to the car.

My left shoe has a big mud mark on it.

"No, I just said yes to get rid of them."

"Oh."

"Oh what?"

I can tell he wants to open the car door for me, but people would think it's weird, so he doesn't. So I climb in after tapping my toe against the concrete to see if I can knock the mud off. It sticks. Guess I'll have to scrape it off.

"Bella?"

"Yes?"

"What are you thinking?"

His eyes are sad and dark as he looks at me. Why? Do I look sad?

"I, um, was wondering if you would have gone if I wasn't here."

He turns the car on, then grabs my hand. "No. I'm not interested in going to any parties without you."

"What if this was college, though? And you were there and I was here?"

His hand tightens around mine. "Not even then, Bella. I've gone to my fair share of parties looking for what I've found with you. I'm not confused."

"Oh."

"Oh? Are we back to this again?" And he shakes my hand playfully.

When I raise my eyes, I know they're fierce. I'm letting my anger show now, and I don't usually do that.

"You always say that I'm yours. Well, right now I'm saying that you're _mine._ And I hate having to watch other girls touch you, especially knowing that you're going away. I can't touch you, and I miss you and you're not even gone yet."

His eyes flare in response to mine and he groans. "I wish I could kiss you right now."

I want him to want more than that, but I guess it's a start.

"Well, let's go home so you can."

And it's the first time I feel like a dirty secret. It's the first time I feel like I'm losing myself because it's becoming more and more obvious to me that I need him.

**. . .**

Dad gets home as we pull into the driveway. He's been working late hours and coming home at odd times of the night. If he wasn't so rock steady, I would have suspected something was going on. Maybe that he was drinking … but he doesn't drink that much even when he's home.

"Good. You're both home. I have something I need to discuss with you," he says.

Edward and I trade looks and I reach for his hand without thinking. He grasps it tightly before he drops it, and we're lucky that Dad didn't see.

I'm not thinking straight tonight. I'm scaring myself, so I sit far away from Edward when we sit down to listen to what Dad has to say. He looks nervous. Giddy, but nervous. Maybe he's not himself, either.

"I, uh, don't know how to say this," he begins with a small chuckle. He leans his elbows on his knees and stares down at his shoes, and I see the top of his head. His hair isn't as thick as it used to be, and I think I might see a gray hair or two.

It makes me sad, but then everything seems to make me sad nowadays.

"So, uh, your mom has been gone for almost five years now," he says to his shoes, and he's turning red.

Edward and I trade another look, this time one of incredulity. Is he saying what I think he's saying?

"Are you … dating someone, Dad?" I ask.

Now his ears are red. "It's something that, uh, happened purely by chance, but yeah. Yeah, I guess I am." And he looks up at us with a tentative smile.

"Yaay!" And I launch myself off the couch and at Dad. "I'm so proud of you, Dad. Atta boy! Go get 'er, tiger!"

He pats my shoulder and pushes me off of him. "Settle down, Bella. You're kinda killing me."

"Who is it?" Edward wants to know. He's got a ridiculous grin on his face, too.

"Name's Sue. Met her last year."

"Last _year_?" I ask. "Have you been dating her on the sly for a year, Dad?"

He coughs. "Not a year, Bella, just here and there. I wanted to make sure things would work out before I mentioned anything, that's all."

Edward's mirroring Dad's pose of elbows on knees. "So things are working out then?"

"Smartass."

"We're just happy for you, Dad," Edward says.

I nod at him in agreement, just in case there's any lingering doubt.

"When do we get to meet her?"

"Dunno," he says and shrugs. "We'll see."

"I'll make dinner one night, whatever night is best for her," I tell him. "Which night would be best for her?"

I'm chomping at the bit to meet this woman who's captured Dad's attention.

"I'll let know, Bella."

"Were you with her tonight?" I ask.

He frowns at me. "What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?"

"No. It's just an inquisition. Answer the question."

He stands up and moves toward the staircase because he's going to bed. Not because he wants to get away from me.

"Yes, I was with her tonight. We had a nice dinner at The Olive Garden, then I took her home. Anything else?"

I look at Edward. He shakes his head.

"Just let me know which night she's coming for dinner," I say.

"Yes, ma'am. Goodnight. Don't stay up too late."

He hightails it.

And Edward and I head for the basement because things aren't finished with us yet. As soon as our feet hit the basement floor, I whirl on him and pull his face down to mine. He pushes me away, which takes me by surprise, but then he picks me up bridal style and carries me to the couch.

As he lays his body down on top of mine, I see a fever blush already staining his cheeks. And oh my God, Edward with a blush is one of the sexiest things I think I've ever seen. We don't kiss right away, just hold hands and stare at each other like we're trying to memorize each other's face.

"You're the most beautiful girl I will ever see," he tells me with an intense look in his eyes that pulls at every string inside of me. And there are strings everywhere, just aching to be pulled even harder until they break. Until I break. And he breaks.

He draws his fingers slowly down my arms, to my shoulders, over my breasts, making me arch under his touch. And then he's drawing up the hem of my shirt, and I'm arching again to help him get it off. When I'm in my bra, he sits back to tear off his own shirt and I raise my hands to his chest. He's lean, but well-defined, hard, silky-soft, and hot. It's cool in the basement, but we're both burning up.

I drop one hand to the waistband of his jeans. "Please?" I see his erection, I know he wants me. How can he keep denying us?

His brow furrows and his eyes close. While he deliberates how far we're going to go, I undo my pants and shimmy them down just past my hip bones. I can't go any further because he's straddling me, but at least he lets me get that far. And when I cup my hand over him, he pushes against me with a groan, which raises him off of me so I can lower my pants even more.

By the time he opens his eyes again, my jeans are at mid-thigh and expose my lavender panties completely.

"Fuck," he says. And then he's yanking my jeans the rest of the way down and off of me, and I open my legs for him to settle against me.

"Now yours," I whisper against his mouth. "Please, Edward."

"Noooo," he moans and rocks against me like he can't help himself.

"Yessss," I rock back and take his lip between my teeth. I keep hold of it as I grasp his waist band and shove at it. "Yes, Edward," I say with his lip still hostage.

He likes that because his thrusts get harder, but all I feel is denim against me when I want to feel hot skin. I raise my legs and dig my heels at the sides of his jeans, which opens me up even more for him.

"Bella," he gasps and his arms hook under my calves to hold me like that, which is sexy-hot, but I lose my grip on his pants.

"If you don't take your pants off, I'm going to bite a hole in your lip," I hiss.

He releases one of my legs to shove his pants down his thighs. "I'm not taking them off," he growls.

But he surges against me hard and I feel more of him than I ever have before. My thin panties are wet, and I can feel his hard heat easily. It almost feels as if he's bare … like he's not wearing underwear at all. In fact, on his next thrust, I'm sure of it because the head of his cock bumps my stomach. He's wet, too.

"Oh, fuck," he gasps. "I want you so bad."

"Then _take _me," I gasp back. "I want you to. Please, Edward."

His mouth slants across mine, and we're breathing each other's air and trying to consume whatever we can. His tongue is mimicking the lovemaking I want us to do, each time he surges against me and drives himself against where I'm aching for him. His knees are practically under my buttocks, he's so close to me. There's only the thinnest scrap of my underwear between us, and I want him inside me so badly.

And then he's tearing off my bra and kissing my chest, and lower, until he gets to my nipples. He bites me hard, then gently, laving me with his tongue, and we're rocking together and I'm so close I feel deranged.

"I love you so much," he says, his mouth tasting my gasps as I come. I'm an arched bow of pure sensation against his body, unable to stop the sounds coming from my throat. And then I'm shuddering with the aftermath and realizing he's still hard against me.

I open my eyes and see his still-lustful gaze, his fever-stained cheeks, his beautiful, open mouth, and I want to come again. He reaches for my hand and brings it to his cock. It's the first time he's let me feel it bare.

I moan with him as my fingers wrap around his girth. He feels huge, hot, hard and silky, and he thrusts inside my grasp almost uncontrollably.

"You're all wet," I whisper as one of his hands wrap around mine to guide me.

"Pre-cum," he tells me. "I'm ready, Bella."

And he moves our hands up and down his cock, and I want to see but he won't let me. And then he's thrusting again and moaning, and I raise my pelvis up so our hands and his cock is against me. His eyes go black as he loses control with a long, painful sounding groan, then he squirts all across my stomach. He watches with a fierce look of pride on his face.

"Why won't you let us go all the way?" I ask him after we clean up and we're just lying there.

"I don't think we're ready," he says and kisses my temple.

"I'm _more _than ready," I inform him.

"Emotionally, I mean. I can't just be with you and leave, Bella. And I don't think you want that, either."

I'm outraged. "So, what then? We're not going to be together until after you _graduate_?"

He sighs. "I'm hoping you'll come to Notre Dame after me," he says.

I scoff. "I don't have the grades to get into Notre Dame."

"But Indiana University in Bloomington is just minutes away."

I'm silent as I think about it. That … could work.

"But that's a year away," I say.

"It'll be worth it," he tells me. "Don't you think we're worth it, Bella? And that way, we're not … fucking under Dad's roof. I just don't want to do that. It's bad enough what we're doing now, you know?"

I sigh because he has a point. But meanwhile, I'm going to _die_ of sexual frustration. Has he _seen _himself?

"Dad can use part of Mom's life insurance for your college tuition, and we can get an apartment together off campus," he says and yawns.

I'm impressed. He's obviously put some thought into this. I roll over to shower his face with kisses.

"You are the _best,_" I tell him. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

**. . . **

Edward packing his clothes for college breaks my heart. He's very fastidious, so it's taking a long time. Each shirt that leaves the closet for his luggage is like a nail in my heart.

"What gets harder to close the wider it gets?" I ask with my heart in my throat.

And we trade sad, knowing smiles.

**. . .**

A few days later, I'm sobbing in his arms outside Morrissey Hall on the Notre Dame campus. Dad's waiting in the truck in the parking lot, and I'm having trouble letting go of Edward.

"We can do this, Bella," he says. "I'll see you in a couple of weeks, and we'll talk every day."

It's not the same, not the same, I want to say, but I can't because my throat is too tight.

"Don't make this harder for me," he whispers. "Please."

I raise my head from his chest to see that his eyes are swimming with tears, too, and it sobers me up a little. Edward can't cry. I can't leave him if he's crying.

And so I take a breath and nod at him, then slowly step away. Our hands grip each other until the last moment. It feels like I'm ripping myself in two.

He looks the same way.

I can't look, it hurts too much.

And then I'm running like crazy for the parking lot and my Daddy.

**. . .**

**Bella's riddle answer: a suitcase**


	26. Separation

The days that follow Edward's departure drift from lavender to dark gray, but I can't show how truly devastated I feel to anyone but Jasper. I walk around with my tongue between my teeth and an ache in my heart, pretending that I'm thrilled about _Edward's wonderful opportunity,_ and that I'm glad to be rid of my overbearing, protective brother. It feels like blasphemy.

The house is empty and quiet without him, and while I avoid the basement like it contains a plague, I've fallen asleep in Edward's bed a number of times. I guess it's because the basement was always Our Place and his bedroom feels like His Place, and I feel closer to him when I can stare up at the same ceiling he used to look at.

There was a bad storm the other night, so I went to his room and crawled under the bed. I'm not sure what my thinking was. It was dark, late at night and loud … and I felt horribly alone, so I squeezed myself into a small place.

Jasper says it will get easier, and that I've got to get it together before Dad starts wondering why I'm depressed. Dad says it's quieter without us always going head-to-head, although what he usually believed was Edward and I fighting was usually just Edward and I passionately poking fun at the other.

Oh, what I would give to have him here right now passionately poking fun at the bruise on my thigh from running into the corner table. He has a way of making me feel quirky and beautiful at the same time.

But the worst thing is, is that Edward hasn't even been gone a week yet.

Somehow, I've got to learn how to suck up this pain.

**. . .**

Dad won't let me drive to Notre Dame.

"He needs to settle in there before you go visiting him," he says. "It's only been a couple of weeks. Give it a month at least."

I'm flabbergasted … furious. It never even occurred to me that Dad wouldn't be on board with this idea.

"He can't come here. He doesn't even have a car!"

"There's a good reason for that, Bella. He's a first-time student away from home, and he needs a structured routine. And so do you, for that matter."

"I'm not asking," I tell him and I know I'm out of line and being unreasonable, but he's trying to stop me from seeing Edward and—and—that's not cool. "Besides, Edward is expecting me."

"Now don't make me be the bad guy, Bella. I'm not saying no to punish you or Edward, but for both of your own good. You _both_ need to get used to the way things are now before you go racing after him."

"I won't be racing after him," I say. "I'll drive the speed limit."

He sighs and pulls my stiff body into a hug. "If I let you go today, before you're used to him not being here, and he's not used to not being here, it'll just prolong the pain of separation. Give yourselves a chance to acclimate first, Bella. That's all I'm saying."

"But I miss him," I choke. "I was so looking forward to this."

"I'm sorry, Bell, I'm sorry." And he swings us back and forth in a hug that almost soothes me. "But do you at least see the sense of what I'm saying?"

I think about it. I imagine arriving there and then having to say goodbye to Edward again, and I can't get past the goodbye part. I'm still stuck on campus with one foot in the truck and one foot on the ground. Also, I'm not letting go of Edward. And so while it irritates me to pieces, I do understand what he's saying.

But I don't like it, not one bit.

"Yes," I sigh in defeat.

"Why don't I take you and Sue out to dinner and a movie tonight?" Dad says. "Sue likes a good horror flick, too."

Sue, I found out, is a man's woman. She actually likes fishing, gutting and cleaning them, and she can put up a tent by herself. She doesn't wear makeup, but then she doesn't need it—she's got a Madonna's face and attitude. She's exactly what my dad needs: a woman who knows how to be devoted without a lot of muss or fuss.

And so I go see a bloody horror movie on Saturday night with my dad and his girlfriend.

**. . .**

"So how was it? How'd you do?" I ask Edward.

It's nine o'clock, our designated time for a phone call. I'm sitting on my bed with my arms wrapped around myself, pretending they're Edward's. Today was his first fencing tournament at the college.

"_It was good. There are some strong opponents here."_

His voice is warm, deep and mellow. "That's it? Well, how'd you place?"

"_Um, I came in first today."_

I gasp. "Don't make me have to drag the good news out of you," I tell him.

"_It was just a warm-up tournament. I could easily drop to third on the next one."_

"No, you're too good. Accept it," I tell him.

He laughs. He sounds good. Happy almost, which I like at the same time I don't trust it because how can he be happy without me?

It's been almost four weeks since I've seen his face or felt the warmth of his touch, and I'm trying to sound normal. Or something close to whatever that is for me.

"_I miss you," he says suddenly. "Are you coming this Saturday?"_

I collapse against the bed with sigh. "If Dad doesn't change his mind," I say. "Of course, it doesn't matter if he _does_ change his mind, I'm hiding the keys to the truck Friday night. I'm coming, I promise."

"_No, you're not. Not if he says no."_

Now I shoot back up. "What? Don't you want to see me?!"

"_More than anything," he says firmly. "But I don't want you getting in trouble because that'll just make it harder for you to come the next time. And us getting to see each other depends on you actually getting here, Bella."_

"Okay," I say. "I'm with you. I'll be so good, Dad will think I've fallen from Heaven."

"_You mean you haven't already?"_

I blush and roll my eyes. Even when he's being corny-sweet, I turn to mush.

I tell him about the troubles I'm having with math and government, about how Rose and Emmett are officially dating again, about Sue's awful fish stew and how even Dad didn't like it.

He tells me about how his roommate accidently exploded a hotdog in their dorm room-illegal microwave, that I would love running around St. Mary's Lake, that his classes are harder than he was expecting, and how he loves riding his bike around the campus.

He never mentions anything about any girls, although I _know_ there are girls. And I don't mention anything about the new boy at school being interested in me.

"_I miss seeing you first thing in the morning," he says._

"I miss your face," I sigh.

It's the beginning of our goodnight ritual.

"_I'll talk to you tomorrow, sweet girl," he says._

"I love you."

"_I love you more."_

I always like falling asleep with the sound of his voice in my mind. Tonight, our phone call continues in my dreams. Somehow Edward and I are together on my bed and we're kissing, and then the bed morphs into a table at the school cafeteria. And Dad and Mom are both there, eating chicken tenders and fries and watching me and Edward kiss.

I wake up instantly and feel gypped.

**. . .**

I'm on Notre Dame Avenue and my stomach is in my throat. I'm so excited I'm shaking. Edward told me to park at the visitor's lot at Holy Cross and Eddy. His hall is all the way across campus from the visitor's parking lot, but he said he'd be waiting for me. And besides, it's not like I'm not noticeable in the big red Ford Ranger I'm driving.

I've just pulled into the lot's entrance when I see a copper-haired boy on a bike. Edward's racing up the walk towards me! I stop immediately where I am, throw the truck in park, and push the truck door open. And he's there pulling me into his arms. We both moan as we come together, and my heart is racing and I can tell his is, too.

Our kiss is sloppy, wet and kind of desperate.

"I've missed you," he says at the same time I'm saying that I love him.

And then someone honks a horn right behind us, because I'm still at the entrance to the lot, and we jump apart in a daze. Edward throws his bike into the truck bed and hops into the passenger seat.

"Let's park Red and go for a walk."

We kiss some more once I find a parking space, and Edward pulls me from my seat over onto his lap. His hands are all over me, caressing my back, my side, my leg and then cupping my butt.

"Did you have any trouble getting here?" he asks against my mouth.

"No," I say when he lets me come up for air again. "It was pretty much a straight shot."

His fingers are warm against my face. "I'm so glad to see you."

I laugh because he can't stop kissing me, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I feel hyper-energized because I've made the drive all on my own, so I know I can do it now. I can come see him when I need to.

"I wish I could stay the night," I tell him as we make our way across Holy Cross to Notre Dame Avenue. He wants to take me to the St. Mary's River.

"There's a Fairfield Inn just past where you came in. Right off campus," he tells me as our hands swing between us.

"I'll ask Dad, but he probably won't let me stay. First time and all," I say.

He yanks me to him in a hard hug. We're already thinking of the goodbye and I've only just gotten here.

"Well, if not, next time, then," he says.

And we seal the promise with a kiss.

"This place is humongous." But gorgeous.

The leaves are changing colors, and the buildings are of stone and majesty, and the sun is shining. It's a perfect day, and there are students everywhere. Some of them are playing Frisbee, some are sitting on blankets under trees, and some are walking hand-in-hand just like we are.

I feel like I'm a part of it all. I feel free. Normal even. No one knows us here. We can hold hands, hug and kiss if we want to. And we do. Often. It's like we're drunk. On each other. And we can't ever get enough.

"Hey, Swan."

Edward and I turn toward the male who spoke our name and at first my heart is beating too hard. I think Edward's is, too, because his grip tightens on me before he relaxes again.

"Hey, Evans."

Evans is tall, sandy-haired and wearing a pair of roller blades. "Is this her?" he asks.

"This is her," Edward says. "Bella, this is my roommate Tom. Tom, this is my girlfriend, Bella."

It's the first time he's ever addressed me this way. He told me he would, but it's not the same as hearing it. And for the first time ever, it feels real—our relationship feels like a real possibility.

"Nice to meet you, Bella. You're more beautiful in person, you know. You're a lucky guy, Swan."

Edward's hand lowers to my hip. "I know."

Tom notices and smiles while I blush. "Well, I won't keep you two. I know he's missed the hell out of you. See you later."

I watch him skate away and grin at Edward. "So I'm your girlfriend."

He grins back at me. "And I'm your boyfriend."

"Are we going to make it?" I ask as we continue our walk.

"Why wouldn't we?"

"Long distance relationships usually don't work out," I joke because I _know _we're going to make it.

He pokes me in the side. "We're not long distance, we're short distance. And only for about eight more months. Plus, it's you and me. We're different."

"Damn straight we are."

And when we're sitting at the edge of the St. Mary's, I take it further because I have to hear that he feels the same way I do because there are so many girls here. And almost every one of them I noticed, noticed Edward.

"So no girl's been trying to get you out on a date?"

He sighs and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Some have tried, yes. But I know what I have and what I want, Bella, and it's not anyone else but you. I think a part of me has always felt that way."

His eyes are soft and searching, totally open to me. And he's looking doubtful now, maybe even scared.

"But a part of me thinks that maybe you need the same chance to figure this out, too."

And he stares down at his legs fiercely, trying to hide his anguish from me.

"What?" I ask and turn his face to mine.

He tries to smile and fails. Seeing his pain breaks my heart. What, what, _what _is he talking about?

"You … haven't really dated anyone," he says. "James doesn't really count because I didn't let you have a chance with him."

I scoot closer to him on the grass and drag his hand into my lap. "I didn't _want _a chance with Jamie. Not after you, Edward. Don't you trust me to know my own mind?"

He shakes his head, then hauls me close to kiss me. "You're so young," he breathes.

"So are _you_," I say and push him gently away. "But that doesn't mean we don't know how we feel. We feel the way we feel. I don't want anyone but you, Edward."

His beautiful face is anguished again. "But how do you know?"

"I just do," I say. "So suck it up. Stop it with this."

He brings my hand to his lips and kisses me there. I go gooey.

"I have an idea," he says slowly.

I sigh.

"If you … if someone asks you out this year … I want you to go."

Now I'm glaring at him, but he's still not looking at me.

"I want you to know that you're making the right decision when you move here next year, Bella."

"I already know—"

He holds his finger against my lips. "Once you move here, _if_ you move in with me next year, things will change, Bella. You think I was overprotective and possessive before? Wait until next year. I've held back with you because … well, because. You and me living under Dad's roof will be different than you and me living together in our own home."

"I'm counting on that," I say. "Back home, I'm your sister. Here, I'll be your girlfriend."

He raises his eyes to mine. They're fierce now, a stormy dark green. "You'll be more than that," he tells me lowly. "And I need for you to be sure about it. I need you to be sure about me, about us. Please."

"I don't know how much more sure I can be," I tell him helplessly. "Dating some other guy isn't going to change that."

He tugs my hair. "Hopefully not, but how are you going to know if you don't give someone else a chance?"

"You want me to date other guys?" I snap and jerk back from him. "You want me to make out with them and see if I might like them better than I do you?"

He looks pained again. "Yes."

I gasp.

"But don't tell me when you do, Bella, or else I'll go crazy."

"Too late," I tell him. "You're already obviously crazy."

Why is he doing this? Why now, when I have to leave in a few hours?

"I want you to know bone-deep that it's me you want," he says. "And you can only know that if you see other people."

I shove him to the ground, then straddle his stomach. "So essentially, you're saying that I don't know crap about how I feel."

His hands come to rest on my hips. He looks both vulnerable and fierce right now, and I want to kiss him and slap him.

"I'm asking you to think about who you are and what you want. For _us._ Aren't we worth it, Bella?"

My eyes are full of angry tears.

"I'm not likely to give you another chance like this," he tells me. "Just think about it."

I stare at my hands on his chest. He's wearing a white and green t-shirt, school colors, which do wonderful things for his hair and eyes. He's a friggen god. And he loves me, but he wants me to date other guys just to make sure that I really love him.

He's an idiot.

"And are you going to be dating other girls again to make sure you know what _you _want?" I sniff.

He lifts his leg, pushes and we've switched positions.

"No, Bella. I've told you. I know who I am and who I want."

"But those were just high school girls," I tell him. "Not real relationships."

"They were real enough to me."

I scoff. "I can't believe you're asking me to do this."

He kisses me into silence. And then, "I can't either. Just don't tell me when you go out, or with who because it'll drive me mad."

I don't plan to tell him anything of the sort, because I don't plan on _doing _anything of the sort.

"What happens twice in a moment, once in a minute, but never in a billion years?" I ask him because I'm tired of talking about this.

"Haven't got a clue," he sighs and leans his forehead against my shoulder.

We eat lunch on the patio at a place called Reckers, and we hold hands and kiss openly. Afterwards, we walk some more. We talk about anything and everything but what he wants me to. And we kiss and wish we could go somewhere private.

Edward tells me he's going to make sure he gets high scores in all his classes so he can bring his car back with him in December.

"Then you won't have to drive up here anymore," he tells me.

"I don't mind driving up here," I say. "_You're _here. I'd drive twice as far if I had to."

He pulls me close and holds me tightly. And all too soon, it's time for me to leave.

"I'll see you in a couple of weeks," he tells me as we stand beside Red.

My throat is tight and I'm trying not to cry. I don't want to leave him. And his arms don't want to seem to let me go. This goodbye hurts as much as the first time, if not more.

"I love you so much," I tell him, and I wish I could just fade into him, be a part of him.

He leans his forehead against mine. "I love you more."

"No, you don't," I sob.

He pushes me by the butt up into the driver's seat and I squeak.

"Go," he says. "Before you make me cry, too. Get home safely. Text me when you get there."

And he closes my door softly and smiles sadly at me from the other side of the window.

I yell and scream during the drive home, but it isn't until I pull into the driveway that I break down in tears.

_I'm home, _I text him.

But I'm not, not anymore, because _he's_ where home is. Even if he's not sure that _I'm_ sure about that.

**. . .**

**Bella's riddle answer for Edward: the letter M.**

**So … am I going to have to resort to bribery just to get you people to comment? Aren't the characters worth it? **

**Let me know you want me to continue writing this story. I'm close to begging here … it's really embarrassing … I don't know if I can eek out another chapter unless a bunch of somebodies say a bunch of somethings.**


	27. Jeopardy

I get to bring Edward back with me for Thanksgiving. He's waiting for me on North Notre Dame Avenue just past Morrissey Hall with his duffel bag, looking adorably rumpled and tired. I throw the truck in park and climb out to run over to him. I want a full body hug, plus I need to stretch my legs.

"Bella," he says with his head on my shoulder, his lips against my neck. He sounds as tired as he looks. He's so much taller than I am that he almost has to bend over me to scoop me inside of his embrace, and I love it because I feel him from every side.

I comb my fingers through his hair and press kisses on the side of his cheek. "I'm here, Edward, I'm here."

As our hug continues, I ignore the stares. Let them look.

He finally releases me with a smile. "I'm so glad you're here."

I frown. There are deep circles under his eyes, and I trace one softly. "You're working too hard."

He catches my hand with his and presses a kiss against my knuckles. "I am, but only because I didn't want to be loaded down with work while I'm home."

"That's what you think," I tell him. "You're going to be peeling potatoes and chopping celery for me."

He groans, then flashes me another killer smile. "Whatever you need me to do, as long as I can be near you."

I blush. What a sap he's become.

On the way home, he falls asleep. He tries not to, but his words become slurred and his eyes blink open slower and slower. In sleep, he looks so tenderly young. And very beautiful with those high cheekbones and pouty lips of his.

I want to pull over and pull him into my arms. I want to fall asleep with him curved around my body, with his palm cupping my breast. I've missed that so much.

Trying to bury my yearning, I sigh and keep driving. The beautiful fall leaves are all gone right now, and gray clouds are hiding the sun, but Edward's beside me and all is right with my world.

**. . .**

Sue's 15-year-old daughter, Teresa, has an obvious crush on Edward. Ever since she and her mom arrived early this morning, Teresa hasn't taken her eyes off of him for more than two minutes. Which means she's in the kitchen with me and Edward, or she's in the basement with me and Edward.

I can understand her fascination with him, but she's putting a definite crimp in our plans. Edward's trying to be magnanimous, but even I can see that he's starting to get impatient and angry by her attention.

"Teresa, do you mind going and telling my dad that we need butter and Cool Whip from the store? And maybe you could go with him, keep him company?"

Her expressive blue eyes darken with petulance, and I can tell she's going to shoot me down before she even opens her mouth.

"Please, Teresa? And if you could pick up a pack of mint Extra gum for me, I'd hug you," Edward says.

That changes her expression quick. She goes from sourpuss to rapture in two seconds flat.

"Anything for you, Edward," she says and races from the room.

I roll my eyes at him as he laughs.

After all three of them leave, with Sue and Dad holding hands, Edward and I fall in each other's arms and kiss like we've been separated for days instead of just hours.

"That girl is a hellacious pest," he says as he kisses his way up my neck to my lips. "Doesn't she have an iPhone she can play on? Barbies she can play with? A fire to start?"

I gasp and laugh, because he's kissing me like he's thirsty and can't get enough.

"Can't you give her a job? Make her chop an onion?"

His fingers are scooting their way down the back of my jeans, and mine are under his shirt against his skin. He's hard and hot and sil—"

"Um? Bella?"

Edward and I break apart to see Teresa gaping at us.

"Um, your dad wants to know what kind of butter to get?"

My heart is roaring like the ocean in my ears.

Edward springs at her.

"Don't say anything, Teresa. Don't say a thing about what you've seen, understand? Tell me you understand."

She nods dumbly and stumbles back against the wall. The t-shirt she's wearing is fisted in her hands, and she looks just moments away from tears.

"Tell me the words, Teresa."

I want to step in and pull him back, because I can see he's frightening her, but I can't move. I'm paralyzed with shock and horror and fear.

"I-I-I won't tell. I understand."

But it's clear that she doesn't understand from her expression. Her eyes are big bruises of shock and her face is pale.

Edward bows his head in front of her and I fall to my knees beside him. We're all but at Teresa's feet at this hellish moment.

"I'm sorry," I tell her. "But we love each other. Will you … please … keep our secret?"

She nods. She looks too scared to say anything.

I raise my hand to touch her shoulder, but she shrinks away from me and I just want to sink into the ground.

"Tell my dad … Land of Lakes stick butter," I whisper.

And she turns and runs.

Edward and I look as bloodless as Teresa.

"I knew she was going to be a problem," he says woodenly. "But I didn't know how just _much_ of one."

"Is she going to tell?" I ask him and step close for a hug. His arms encircle me tightly.

"I don't think so. At least, not right away."

I still feel like crying, but I … just can't. I'm frozen. "What are we going to do?"

He cups his hands around my face. His gaze is softly fierce. "If we have to, we're going to deny anything and everything, Bella. If she says anything, it will be her word against ours. We can be more convincing in a lie than she can in the truth. Dad knows how close we are. What Teresa saw could easily be misconstrued."

My chest is slowly loosening. "What did she see?"

"She saw me holding your hand under the water. You, my sweet clumsy one, cut your finger, and your big brother was babying you."

And he lifts my hand and nicks my forefinger before I know what he's doing. It happens too fast to sting. Or maybe I'm still numb from shock.

Like he did for me years ago, Edward bandages my finger with a kiss.

"Are you with me, Bella?"

Until I answer, he looks terrified and lost. "All the way, every step," I say firmly, and hold my hand against his face.

"I won't lose you," he says brokenly.

"You won't."

"We have to put our game faces on," he tells me. "You have to act like you were before Teresa saw us."

I nod. "Goofy-drunk to have you home, and a slave-driver in the kitchen."

He smiles a little. "Can you do it?"

"Absolutely. I'm not going to lose _you_."

His chest raises and falls with a few quick breaths. "God, I love you."

I press the palm of my hand against his heart. "I know. Now … do you believe that I love you like you love me?"

It's a leading question that he doesn't get. He furrows his brows at me.

"I don't have to go out with the foreign exchange student from Italy, or the chess player, or the track running star to know that I'll lie to love and protect you, Edward."

His brow clears as he exhales long and slow.

"I'll do anything for you," I whisper fiercely.

He doesn't say anything. He can't. He just holds me tight against him until we have to separate and return to our socially-accepted roles.

**. . .**

I should feel horrible as I smile at Teresa across our Thanksgiving spread later that day, as I tease Dad about whether or not he can have pie unless he finishes his green beans, as I share what I'm thankful for this year—that Edward can be here with us—but I don't.

I'm in love, and nothing and no one is going to change that.

**. . .**

Later that night in my bed, we play devil's advocate.

"What if Sue believes her daughter, and Sue somehow convinces Dad?"

Edward shakes his head. "Sue has nothing to lose. We do. We win, every time."

"What do you think Dad would do if he found out?"

His eyes fill with tears as he looks at me. "It would break him, Bella. He can't ever find out, not while you're still at home."

But I don't think that matters much anymore. I'm eighteen, and an adult. What could he do, keep us apart? It would never work. Besides … besides, I don't think he'd try.

Would he?

"Are we ever go to tell him?"

His grip on my hand tightens. "Eventually. Years from now when it becomes clear that we're not dating anyone, and he's wondering … when we're going to settle down and have a family."

The dark gets darker. "_Can _we have a family?" I whisper.

"No," he whispers back. "We can live together, be together, but we can't have kids."

He rolls over to face me and the tears in his eyes roll down his cheeks. "Incest is illegal, Bella."

I don't feel illegal. Not even close. And the word _incest _is ugly. It doesn't describe us at all. It doesn't even begin to encompass what I feel for him. I'm beginning to hate that word like it's a poison.

"Would we get taken to jail?"

He turns his face into his pillow. He's openly sobbing, which tears my heart to pieces, and I press as close to him as I can get. I have no words of comfort, just my touch, my presence. And while I might not have always been as wise about our situation as he is, I'm here every inch, every instance, with him now.

He finally gets himself under control. I wipe his tears away with my fingers.

"We'd only get prosecuted, I think, if one of us claimed rape. But because we're both consenting adults, I think we'll be okay as long as we don't advertise who we really are. But as long as we're Dad's dependents, we don't have control yet. So he can't find out, Bella."

"He won't," I tell him.

"Do you understand about never having children?"

Before this moment, I'd never really even thought about kids. Or much about the future. It was all just a hazy tomorrow where things were somehow going to be the way I wanted them to be.

"You mean naturally? I can't, er, give birth?"

"No," he says and runs a finger across my cheek. His eyes are great pools of sorrow and regret. "Not ever. We'll have to use birth control every time, all the time."

"As long as I have you, I don't care," I tell him solemnly.

"You say that now, but what about ten years from now? We won't even be able to adopt."

I kiss the frown on his mouth. "I don't have my magic 8 ball on me, sorry. Anyway, what else can we do but take it one step at a time? Nobody knows what's going to happen until it actually does."

"I just don't want you to ever hate me."

"Why would you say that? I would never hate you, Edward, any more than you would ever hate me."

"I want to give you _everything_," he says. "And one day, you're going to want kids."

Like he does with mine so often, I kiss the knuckles on his hand and hear his breath catch. "Do _you _want kids?"

"Not right now. But … I'm pretty sure I would."

"Well, are you going to hate me because I won't be able to give you a kid?"

He pulls me to him and kisses me fiercely. "Never. Never."

"We'll have cats and dogs," I tell him as our legs tangle together under the sheets. "Maybe a ranch in the middle of nowhere with horses, cows and chickens."

He wrinkles his nose at me. "No chickens."

"What came first, the chicken or the egg?" I ask him.

"The egg, of course. We all have to come from something."

I giggle. "I'm light as a feather, but no one can hold me for long. What am I?"

"Mine," he says and kisses me deeply.

**. . .**

The rest of the Thanksgiving holiday passes uneventfully, but I notice that Edward is extra careful around me.

He doesn't give me any long, loving stares that twist my insides to knots.

When he passes me, he doesn't touch me.

There are no more heavy make-out sessions, which breaks my heart and something else.

On Friday, he goes out with old high school friends, including Emmett, and doesn't come home until one in the morning.

Alice, Rose and I watch chick-flicks and eat too much ice cream. They tell me stories about Jasper and Emmett, how sweet the guys are, how much in love they are. And they wonder if I'm ever going to give Raul, the Italian exchange student, a chance. Rose warns me that boys at school think I'm cold, and a prude.

As long as they leave me alone, I don't care. Not really. Can I help that none of them interest me, that the thought of touching or kissing them leaves me cold?

On Saturday, Dad and Sue take us girls to a Komets hockey game. Teresa and one of her girlfriends come. They whisper and stare at me, and I pretend not to notice.

On the other side of town, Edward goes to a party where I know there are girls there, girls who would do almost anything to get with him.

A week ago, I would have been hurt and angry, but now I'm all too painfully aware of why he's doing what he's doing. Or, not doing.

We're biding our time. Play-acting for Dad. For our friends. For everyone.

**. . .**

**Bella's riddle answer for Edward: Breath**

**Do you think Bella and Edward are doing the right thing? s**


	28. Maybe

It's the week before Christmas, and the day before Edward comes home, when Sue finds me in the living room decorating the Christmas tree. She must have let herself in, because I didn't hear the doorbell ring. My bones almost pop out of my skin, I'm so shocked to see her standing there.

I'm also kind of mad. While I know she and Dad are practically living together, because they're together almost every day, she doesn't live here. Couldn't she have at least knocked?

"Sue?" I let my eyebrow arch so she knows I'm not cool with being surprised like this.

Dad's not home because there's something going on at work that requires his attention. He and Sue left together this morning, but here she is now.

Alone.

And looking nervous.

She's practically wringing her hands. I'd feel sorry for her if I didn't have a strong suspicion about why she's here, and if dread wasn't currently filling my bloodstream like ice.

"Bella, I'm so sorry to barge in on you like this, but I was hoping to talk to you alone."

I hang a glass ball on the tree and try to look blasé. "About?"

"Could we … sit down please?"

I close my eyes, swallow and turn with a smile. "Sure. Do you want something to drink?"

"No, no, I'm fine."

"Well, I'm a bit thirsty," I say and wave at the tree. "Decorating's tough work. I'm going to get a Coke. Sure you don't want anything?"

She follows me into the kitchen. "Maybe a glass of water."

I'm pouring her a glass when she speaks again. "I don't know how to say this, so I guess I'll just come right out with it."

That comment nudges the ice in my blood up into my throat. I hope she doesn't see that my hand shakes as I set the glass on the table.

"Um, okay?"

She takes a big breath. "I overheard Teresa on the phone with one of her friends the other day. She was talking about you and Edward kissing each other on the mouth."

_Holy! Stay calm. Be cool. _

"Really? Well, I've pecked Edward on the lips enough times for her to see us, I guess."

After that smooth line, I pull out a can of Coke from the fridge and take a couple of chugs that burn my throat. Then, and only then, do I turn around and look at her again.

"Why? Is that a problem?" I ask.

Sue all but falls into one of the kitchen chairs. She wraps her hands around the glass of water, then raises her eyes to mine.

"It was the way she was talking that got me worried," she says with a sigh. "Like … she'd caught you and Edward in a secret act, and now she's spreading rumors about what she thinks she's seen."

I lean back against the counter and wait for her to continue.

"I ended her phone call then and there. After all, I didn't raise a daughter to spread those kind of lies. I was very angry with her, and she's lost her phone privileges for a month. But after talking with her, I realized that she's convinced she saw something between you and Edward. And … I thought you should know."

I can't hide my own anger and hurt, but I think that's okay. Those feelings would be normal under the circumstances. But I can't defend myself or Edward without looking guilty. I can't even try.

"I don't know what she thinks she saw, but I hope you _can_ stop her from spreading rumors like this," I say. "That's, like, the last thing my dad needs right now."

Sue gives me a long look. Concern is etched across her face. I can't tell if she believes me or if she believes her daughter, but it doesn't matter. There's no proof of anything. And like Edward said once, it's Teresa's word against mine. Against his.

"Normally I wouldn't have even brought this up with you, but I know you've been through a lot already. And I guess I wouldn't want you or Edward, or your dad, to be taken unaware if someone were to be stupid enough to repeat what Teresa's said. These kind of rumors can spread like wildfire."

I can feel my shoulders slump a little. She's not here to confront me at all; she's here to make sure that if I am confronted, I'm prepared.

"I'm really sorry, Bella," she whispers.

"Yeah. Me, too," I say.

So Teresa's got a big mouth. Hopefully no one she told knows someone who knows Edward or me. It would be difficult to pretend not to hear this from people at school. I can't even imagine what Edward's going to say when he hears this.

Next September can't come fast enough.

**. . .**

Edward and I are under the tree again on Christmas Eve Night. Actually, it's already Christmas Day since it's after one in the morning. And this time, we're both hoping for a miracle.

"Well, Teresa _is_ spending Christmas with her dad," I say.

"That's a start," Edward murmurs and rolls over to kiss me.

"And Dad is going to spend Christmas Day night with Sue and her parents," I continue between kisses.

"Even better."

He pulls me under his body and I open my legs so he can come up against me. When he does, I can't help moaning. I've missed him, missed this, so much. But we probably shouldn't be doing this right here, right now.

"But Alice wants us to come to their house tonight."

"Tell Alice we can't make it," he breathes and slides a hand under my butt so he can angle me against him better. "Tell her you and I want to spend the night alone."

"Edward," I laugh and moan. "Not here, okay?"

He stills against me and groans, as if he'd forgotten where we were.

"Dammit," he says and pushes against me one last time, making me gasp. "Then let's go upstairs."

"I thought you didn't want to," I tell him as he tugs me up.

"I _never _not want to," he says and yanks me against his chest. His eyes are nearly black with desire and I know mine are, too. We're panting and I can barely stand up straight.

Before I know what he's doing, he's hauled me up into his arms child-style. "Wrap your legs around me," he says and pushes me against the living room wall beside the fireplace. Once my legs are wrapped around his waist, he starts rocking against me. We're both in pajamas, so I'm already wearing next to nothing, and I can feel his steel and heat against me, right where I need it. But we could lose ourselves so easily, and Dad could hear, so I have to stop him before it's too late.

"Not here," I whisper against his mouth. "Take me to my room."

He growls and rocks harder against me.

"Edward, no," I say. "Dad."

And he growls again, and lowers his head to my neck. "I want you right here, right now."

"I know," I say. "I do, too. Just take me upstairs."

"I won't make it," he says and drags my hand to the band of his sweat pants. Cupping my hand in his, he shoves it down his pants and curls his fingers around mine, around his cock. Meanwhile, I'm slowly sliding down the wall because he can't both hold me up and back up enough to let me give him a hand job.

"Please," he whispers brokenly as we sink to the floor, and his hand tightens around mine and moves it up and down his shaft.

And I'm surprised that he's this out of control when he's usually _so _in control.

He's hot and stiff and wet in my hand, and his breathing is wildly erratic. As his hands push my own pair of sweats down my legs, I realize he's lost _total_ control. And why couldn't this be happening in the basement, or in one of our rooms? Why does he suddenly have to lose control in the living room of all places?

I scramble to my feet and out of his hands. "Come on," I hiss and race for the basement.

After a pause, he's up and running after me. I try to walk softly down the basement stairs, but he's like an elephant behind me, so I stop and let him catch me. He pulls me up hard against him, his grip almost too tight, and we fall and slide down the last few steps.

It's dark because we both forgot to flip the light switch, but I feel him rip my pants off, and I hear rustling as he jerks his own down. And then he's on top of me on the floor, and his hands and his body are clumsy against me.

"Bella, please," he says.

"It's okay," I whisper. He's surging against me, but he also wants to touch me down there, so he pushes my panties aside to feel me.

"Oh god, you're so wet," he groans.

"Don't stop," I say as he drags a finger against me. It's slippery and tingly and something is building fast in my stomach. Holy cow, losing control is fun.

He rips my panties on the right side and presses himself against me. And we're bare against each other, heat against heat, hard against soft. We're rubbing and sliding and it's so hot and feels so good that I feel like I'm going to die if it gets any stronger. We're moving so wild and erratically that the tip of him slides inside of me, and I groan and lift my legs higher because I'm aching and he's so close to the ache.

Then he's panting and shaking and groaning, and he moves just slightly in me once, twice, three times before he jerks away with a gasp, and he's coming across my pelvis and stomach. And I'm still moving because I'm still aching, so I bring my hand to myself because I'm so close. He falls beside me and adds his fingers to mine, so we're both moving against me, deep and then at the tip of me, and now I'm the one who's shaking and breaking apart.

"I'm sorry," he breathes a few minutes later.

"Don't you dare say you're sorry," I say fiercely. "That was hot. Although I wish you would lose control at the same times I do."

He laughs weakly and cleans me up with the bottom of his t-shirt. "I guess that's been building a while. I try not to think of how much I want you when I'm around you, Bella, but sometimes … obviously, it's hard."

"I'm going to ask if I can go on birth con—"

We hear a floorboard creak upstairs. For a second, we're frozen, and then we're up and running for the couch. Edward grabs the remote and turns the TV on, and we pull the blanket on the back of the couch over us.

"Bella? Edward?" Dad's scratchy, cranky voice.

"Shhhh," Edward says and combs his fingers through my hair. "You're asleep."

I lay my head against the pillow and try to calm my breathing. On the TV, I hear muted voices as Dad lightly runs down the stairs in his slippers.

"Dad?" Edward asks, and his voice sounds as groggy as Dad's.

"You two still up?"

"No, we must have fallen asleep."

"I thought I heard something."

I hear Edward yawn and rub his face. "All I heard was your voice as you came downstairs."

"Well, you two should be in bed now. It's late. Wake your sister up. Santa won't come if you're not in your beds, you know. Come on."

Edward's hand is hot and sweaty against my arm, and I squint up at his face as I act like I'm waking up. Actually, since Dad turned the light on, I don't have to act like I'm squinting. Neither does Edward.

"Time for all little girls and boys to be in bed," Edward says with a wry twist of his lips.

"Come on, Bells," Dad adds wearily as he starts back up stairs. "Santa's waiting."

I follow Dad's heels up the stairs and feel like a criminal. Behind me, Edward shuts the TV off and the nighttime hush is heavy with our footsteps and my guilt.

I lock my door that night as a precaution, and text Edward to stay in his bed.

This was too damn close, in more ways than one. First, we almost had unprotected sex, and then Dad!

We've been so good the past few months, making it a point to go out with our friends, to study hard, to give up more Saturdays together than we'd like. Maybe it's taking a toll on us, maybe it's making us even more crazy for each other than we usually are, although that's hard to imagine.

But whatever the reason, it can't happen again.

**. . .**

Dad's helping me box up the Christmas decorations when I suddenly notice that he's lost weight. He stretched from his tiptoes up to his fingertips for the tree topper, and his beer gut is just _gone_.

"Ohmigod," I cry and he jumps a foot and whips around with the angel topper in his hands. His eyes are as wide as his mouth.

"What, Bella, what?"

"How much weight have you lost?"

He glowers and points the angel at me. "I haven't lost weight, and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't yell at me like a hooligan in my own house."

"If you lose any more weight, your pants are going to fall down," I warn him.

"Guys don't lose weight," he says and hands me the angel rather forcefully. "They lose inches."

"Well, if you lose any more _inches, _your—"

"Can we talk about something else, please? Anything else."

I drop a couple of glass balls into their cardboard partitions. "I've decided to apply to Indiana University in Bloomington," I say. "It's close to where Edward's going and I figure we could get an apartment together."

"Hmmm. You talk to Edward about that?"

He hands me two more balls.

"Yes."

"And? He's okay shacking up with his sister?"

I give Dad a look. "Of course. I cook and clean. What's not to like?"

Dad grunts. "That's actually a good idea. A really good idea. Surprised I didn't think of it. Edward's really okay with it, huh? Good, good. He can look after you."

Yeah, he'll look after me alright.

We're quiet as we strip the tree bare, and I'm waiting and hoping Dad will say something about putting some of Mom's life insurance towards our apartment.

"We can get jobs, I guess, to help pay the rent," I sigh. "But going to school _and _working part time is going to be hard."

He snickers. "Don't think I don't know what you're up to, young lady."

"What?" And I blink at him.

"I can't afford to pay for a house _and_ an apartment. But that's why I was holding on to your Mom's life insurance money. I was going to use it for part of your college tuition, but maybe the rent would be a better option."

I squeal and wrap my arms around him and jump.

"Hold on there, Bella," he says, his words coming out all broken up because I'm jostling him with my jumping. "First you have to get accepted at the college."

But I just laugh. Piece of cake. Nothing's going to stop me now.

**. . .**

"Being in love should make you happy," I say to Jasper one day in the spring. "It should make you feel free, like breaking out into song or doing a crazy dance in the middle of anywhere, anytime. It should make you feel like you're _in _the world and not just _on _it."

He nods in agreement with what I've said. "But in your case, it's different. I know, Bella. I'm sorry."

"If you want to be sorry about anything, be sorry that I can't sing _You're My Best Friend _right now," I tell him.

He gives me a look. "Well, I'm _not _sorry about that."

We snicker and poke at each other.

In August, Jasper and Alice are leaving for Chicago's School of the Art Institute. Rose is staying here to go to the same college as Emmett. Plus, she just wants to stay close to home.

August seems far away, and yet I know how quickly the days can pass. We'll all still be close geographically, but emotionally and psychologically? I don't think I can live for long with this kind of a lie, but how can I not tell my closest friends?

"I'm afraid we'll lose each other if Alice and Rose find out about me and Edward," I say to Jasper.

"You mean _you and me_?" He asks.

"Well, everyone. But especially you and me," I say and lay my head against his shoulder. "I don't think I could have survived this long without you, Jasper."

He sighs. "You won't lose me, Bella. No one, not even Alice, can tell me who my friends should be. And you'll always have me, I promise."

"Alice won't like it."

"She doesn't have to."

"I don't want to lose Rose," I whisper.

"Maybe she'll surprise the hell out of you. Maybe … she'll be okay with it in the long run."

"I wish I had my magic eight ball."

He pulls Sprock out of his jacket pocket.

"Maybe," Sprock says in his non-Jasper deep tone of voice, "Maybe Rose will accept who you both are and love you anyway, like Jasper does."

"Maybe," I tell the sock.

But I don't think either of us believes that, though.

**. . .**

**Everybody's just dying to know … is there going to be an HEA?**

**If you don't want to be spoiled, stop reading now.**

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**I won't break your heart, but I do plan to tug on it. Otherwise, why bother? A good heart tug is good for the soul.**

**And while HEAs are for fairy tales, I am planning to write an HE. A happy ending.**

**So you can breathe now.**


	29. Only Fooling Myself

Spring comes and goes.

July is humid and hot, and full of plan-making for the end of August. Edward applied for housing and got us a two bedroom apartment in Clover Ridge, which is just off the Notre Dame campus. It's not one of the nicer complexes, but our apartment has its own washer and dryer, and the price is right. Plus, it'll be all ours. He can bike to classes and I can take the car to my campus.

Sometimes, no matter what I'm doing at the time, I have the worst urge to jump up and down and just squeal in excitement. Sometimes I just pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. I can't wait for the end of August, when we get to move in to our own place and finally just _be. _No more compromising, no more hiding. And hopefully, no more feeling guilty.

Although I'm not sure about that last one. I'm trying to learn how to live with the guilt about lying to Dad, about lying to everyone. I suspect that it's only going to get to worse with time, but I try not to think about it too hard. As long as I never lie to myself, I should be okay. And right now, I just want to focus on the good.

Meanwhile, I'm with Alice and Rose at the pool. My time with them is special and I'm trying to soak up every moment. We don't discuss the fact that we'll be separated in another two months, but we make plans to reconnect for the Thanksgiving holiday.

"Maybe by then, you'll have found a boyfriend," Alice is saying. "I just don't understand what you're waiting for, or looking for. Jamie would have been perfect for you."

"Except he wasn't," I sigh. "And I really don't want to talk about my boyfriendless status for the hundredth time, you guys."

"Moving in with Edward is going to crimp your style," Rose says. She pushes the sunglasses on her nose down a smidge so I can see her eyes. "He's not going to approve of any boys, you know."

"Moving in with Edward is going to crimp _his_ style," I joke, ignoring her comment.

"Yeah," Alice laughs. "You're going be picking up after him, doing his laundry and cooking. C. R. I. M. P? No. You d. O. P. E."

They laugh and look at me like I'm an idiot.

"Like you wouldn't do that for Jasper? Or you wouldn't do that for Emmett?"

"Hell no," Rose says.

"Maybe," Alice says at the same time.

Now I'm laughing at _them._

"Let me ask you both something," I say a moment later. At my tone, they both tilt their heads down so they can see me clearly over the tops of their sunglasses.

"This sounds serious," Rose says.

Alice nods once. "True dat."

I take a breath of courage. "What if … what if you fell in love with someone you shouldn't?"

They're silent, and then, "Do you mean like Romeo and Juliet? Or … same-sex love?" Alice asks.

I shake my head. How to say this? "No, I mean like a taboo kind of love."

"A taboo kind of love?" they echo.

"Yeah. Remember that story _Forbidden _about the brother and sister?"

They're groaning and shaking their heads before I even finish speaking.

"That's gross, Bella," Alice says and shudders. "It's not just taboo. It's … disgusting."

Rose just frowns at me.

"Well, what if you … somehow … fell in love with … er, Emmett?"

She gasps. "Ew! I would _never_. That would _never_ happen."

I shrug and try not to look like I'm hurt. Or like I'm a living taboo.

"What if it did, though?"

"I'd kill myself."

"_What?"_

She nods fiercely, then shakes her head. "No, okay, I wouldn't kill myself. But I'd move far, far away from him. I'd never see him again."

"Would you really?" I ask.

"Without question," she says.

But she doesn't know. How can she? If she really loved Emmett like I love Edward, she couldn't bear to be apart from him.

And I've never wanted to kill myself just because I love Edward. How ridiculous is that?

"Why are you asking us this?" Rose says lowly. She's still frowning at me.

"I read the story is all," I say.

"Ew," Alice says again.

"Why would you read a story like that?" Rose wants to know.

"I was curious."

"Did it satisfy your curiosity then?" Alice asks.

"No. It broke my heart. The brother committed suicide."

"Oh. Well, I guess that's one way to take care of it," she says, which isn't a surprise seeing as how her first thought had been of suicide.

Rose gapes at me. "You just ruined it for me."

"What?"

"Well, what if I wanted to read it, Bella? You just blew the ending for me."

"You don't want to read it," I tell her. "Trust me. It's depressing as hell, and the writer took the easy way out."

"Easy way out?"

"That's right. Instead of showing how the couple could have made it, she had one of the main characters off himself. It's a cop out."

Rose shakes her head. "What you call a cop out, was the only way to salvage such a relationship. Brothers and sisters can't fall in love. It's prohibited. And it's gross. I can't believe you don't think so since _you_ have a brother."

I shrug. "I guess I'm just more open-minded about it. After all, hundreds of years ago, dynasties were forged on brother-and-sister relations."

Alice gives me a look. "That was hundreds of years ago. This is today. Totally different world, thank God."

I give up and nod, but everything feels heavy inside. Neither of them are willing to consider how such a thing could happen, and I'm not going to change their minds or their opinions.

I don't get angry, burst into tears, or run away crying; I relax back against my chair again, and think about how I deserve a damn Oscar.

"Seriously, though, I hope you do meet someone, Bella. You're too pretty, smart and fun to be alone," Rose says.

"I'm not lonely," I insist. "And I'll meet someone when the time is right and not a minute before."

_Liar, liar. _

"Fate determines that, not you," Alice says. "Besides … sometimes I get the oddest feeling that you're already in love. Why is that?"

What?

"I'm … happy as I am. I don't need anything. Maybe what you sense is just my utter completeness."

"What utter crap," Rose says. "Everybody needs somebody to love, someone to love them."

"Lots of people love me!" I yell. They both raise their eyebrows at me.

"And I love lots of people," I continue in a more rational tone of voice. "You guys, I said I didn't want to talk about this."

Alice huffs. "You never want to talk about it."

"Well, you wouldn't either if you were in my position. It's no fun being given the third degree by my best friends about my boyfriendlessness."

Rose sits up in her chair. "Is that even a word?"

"Who cares? Shut up. Let's talk about where we're going for dinner tonight. My vote is for dinner and a movie."

God, please make them drop it.

"The food is crap at The Cinema," Rose says.

"So are the movie selections," Alice adds.

"I didn't mean go to The Cinema," I tell the nitwits. "I meant let's go see something worth talking about over dinner. Yes?"

And that's what we do.

The guys catch up with us at The Olive Garden, and the waitress lets us move from a booth to a big, round table in the center of the floor. We're a bit noisy and rowdy at first, but as the food sinks down to our bellies, the couples start giving each other goo-goo eyes. Edward and I try not to stare too longingly at them.

His foot nudges mine under the table, and I hook my ankle around his. And then we're holding pinkies. I lean over to whisper something in his ear, wishing we could kiss like Alice and Jasper are at the moment.

"So, which of you pairs of lovebirds want the bill?"

We all look up at the waitress in shock.

"We're not _all _lovebirds," Alice tells her. "But I'll take the bill."

Jasper's eyes are confused and wary as they meet mine across the table.

We're noisy again as we discuss who owes what.

"You two were looking cozy over there," Rose says as she leans over to me. "I bet the waitress thought you and Edward were dating."

She starts laughing and can't stop, and then everyone else wants to know why.

"The waitress," Rose spits out. "She thinks Edward and Bella are a couple."

Bedlam breaks apart in my heart as everyone but me, Edward and Jasper start laughing. Emmett's pounding the table so hard that a glass is knocked over.

"That's some funny shit," he says to Edward and wipes his eyes.

"They do look kind of good together," Jasper says solemnly.

Alice does a double-take. "What? Are you nuts, Jazz?"

"Obviously," Rose says, but then she's looking at me all funny.

"He's always been a little off," Emmett says. "Didn't you say your momma dropped you on your head more than once, Jasper?"

I deflate and sigh inwardly. Edward looks as sick on the outside as I feel on the inside.

They're never going to accept the idea of us.

**. . .**

A month later, Rose knocks on the bedroom doorjamb.

I'm bent over my bed, trying in vain to close the lid to the suitcase that holds all of my winter sweaters.

"Hey," I say and wipe the back of my hand across my forehead.

"Edward here?" she asks.

"No," I say slowly. Why would she ask such a thing? She knows the guys are off camping.

She shrugs. "Just wanted to make sure. You, uh, got a minute?"

"Yes. Make sure about what?"

"That he's not here," she says with a hard look. "I wanted to talk to you alone."

"He's with Em, Rose. You know that."

She folds her arms across her chest and walks around my room, looking at everything like she's seeing it for the first time.

"Honestly, I don't know what I know anymore, Bella."

I'm numb. "What do you mean?"

When she's by my bookshelf, she bends over and picks something up. A book. And when she holds it up and I see it, I feel the blood drain from my face.

It's the book _Forbidden _and her expression, when I look at her, is one of revulsion and anger.

"How long, Bella? Huh? How long has this been going on?"

I fall to the bed beside the suitcase that won't close. Like my mouth, as I gasp for air.

"It all feel in to place for me the night we had dinner at The Olive Garden. After that stupid question you asked us at the pool. All those years when I thought you and Edward were just fighting … you weren't, were you? Or, oh, wait," she laughs and it's an ugly sound. "You were _fighting your love for each other. _Weren't you?"

I don't know what to say. Not that it matters, because I can't talk at all at the moment. I can't seem to catch my breath because my throat is closing up on me. When I next become aware of my surroundings, I'm on the floor and Rose is crouched in front of me, breathing with me.

"That's it, slowly, slowly," she's saying.

She takes her hands off of me as soon as I regain my senses, then stands over me.

"That's one way to get out of answering my questions," she says dryly.

As the dark around my vision fades, I raise my eyes to hers. She still looks disgusted, but not as angry.

"I don't know how it happened," I say and my mouth and throat are dry.

She hands me the water bottle from my night stand and I take a long drink.

"It just … one day I woke up and realized that I loved him."

"It's not right, Bella."

"It feels right," I whisper.

"How the hell can it? It's incest! It's wrong. Society forbids it. How can you—why would you—I don't get it. Does your dad know?"

"No," I say. "And he can't know, Rose."

"No kidding," she snaps. "Jesus. What a mess. Does he—does Edward feel the same way about you?"

"Yes," I whisper.

"Of course he does. He's as much a fool as you are. My god, Bella, think about what you're doing."

"I _have_! Don't you think I've thought about this until thinking hurts? But the outcome is always the same. I love him and he loves me, and we want to be together."

"That's impossible."

"Not impossible."

"Oh, that's right. You're getting an _apartment _together and your dad is going along with it because he thinks— God! How can you _do _this? How can either of you do this? It's inhuman. You've got to stop before …"

She brings her hands up to her head.

"Have you … have you _been _with him? Have you _fucked _him?"

I shrink away from her vitriol. "Not that it's any of your business, but no. We haven't."

She laughs a little. "I don't know whether I believe you or not. You're so good at keeping secrets and telling lies."

"I don't need you to believe me," I say and wipe at my face. "But it doesn't matter what I say anyway, does it, Rose? Whatever I say is going to be a defense to you."

Long moments of heavy silence pass. "I just can't believe you."

"We're not hurting anyone."

"You're going to hurt your dad. And you're only fooling yourself if you think he won't find out."

She's like an avenging angel dressed all in black with her long, silvery-blond hair, and her angry eyes. She's never looked like less than my friend right now, and I want to hide.

"Are you going to tell?" I ask her.

When she doesn't answer, I push myself up off the floor so I can look at her face-to-face. I'm still weak, and I stagger a bit, but I'm not ashamed that I love Edward. He's worth loving.

"Are you?" I repeat.

"It's not my place to tell," she says finally, but she doesn't look pleased about that. "I wouldn't even know where to begin. It makes me sick just thinking about it. But you and I? We're through."

"What about Emmett? Are you going to tell him?"

Is Edward going to lose Emmett, too?

She growls and spins away from me. "I don't know. I haven't said anything yet. But … one day, I will, Bella. Emmett deserves to know."

I swallow. Of course. "Will you give me a heads-up first? So I can warn Edward?"

"Why should I?"

"We haven't changed, Rose," I say. "I'm still the same girl you knew before I asked you guys that question at the pool that day."

"No," she shakes her head. "I never knew that girl. I thought I did, but clearly I didn't."

"Rose," I sob. "Please don't hate me. Don't hate _us._ We can't helploving each other. We didn't choose this."

She holds her hand up to silence me. "But you are. You are choosing this. You've made your decision. Now I get to make mine."

"Please don't tell anyone," I whisper. "I'll … leave you alone. But if you tell anyone, it will destroy me and Edward."

"_You _should tell your dad," she says. "And you should do it now before you get in any deeper."

"No," I say. "No, not yet."

"You're a selfish idiot."

"Please, if you ever cared for me at all, don't tell anyone. At least not yet. Please, Rose."

She looks down her nose at me. "I don't owe you _any_thing, Bella."

And then she turns and leaves.

I've got no one to talk to about the world crashing down.

So I sink down beside my bed and cry.

When Dad finds me still there hours later, he asks me what's wrong.

"Nothing. I just don't feel very good," I rasp.

He moves the suitcase off the bed, and then helps me under the covers.

"What kind of not feeling good?"

"Stomach. Head."

Heart.

"I'll heat you up a bowl of soup. That should make you feel a little better."

He brings me back a bowl of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup and my stomach gurgles once I catch a whiff. Maybe I'll be okay after all.

"I'm going over to Sue's. You want me to bring you anything back?"

I shake my head. All I want is for him to put his arms around me and rock me to bed like he used to do with I was little, and the only thing I had to worry about was if the sun was up or not so I could play outside.

"What did Rosalie want?"

To break my heart. "Nothing," I say. "Just to tell me goodbye and good luck at school. She's, uh, got plans the weekend I'm leaving."

"Oh. Well that's too bad, but you'll see her often. After all, she's not moving."

She might as well live on the moon now. "I know."

"Well, I'll see you later, kiddo. Hope you feel better."

"Bye, Daddy," I whisper.

**. . .**

Edward knows something is wrong the moment he sees me, but Dad wants to hear the camping highlights almost as soon as he walks in the door.

"Later," I mouth to him.

And when we're in my bed, I tell him about Rose's visit.

"How did she find out?"

He's not going to like this part.

"It's my fault," I say and scoot away from him, but he pulls me back and holds me tight.

"It's okay, just tell me," he says as I start to cry.

So I tell him brokenly about how Rose connected the dots because of a book I read, because I asked a question, and because the waitress at The Olive Garden thought we were together-_together_ that night.

We're silent afterwards, just holding each other tight. I wish so much that things could be different.

"Is she going to tell anyone?" he asks.

"Not yet," I sniff. "But eventually, she's going to tell Emmett."

He curses.

"We're going to lose them," I say. "I've already lost Rose."

He cups my face in one of his hands and makes me look at him.

"As long as we don't lose each other, Bella, we'll be okay."

I nod and hold him as tightly as he does me.

"I never was, but am always to be," I whisper. "No one ever sees me, and never will, yet I am the confidence of everyone who hopes to see me. What am I?"

"Something beautiful," he says with a sigh and kisses me. "We can do this. Not everyone _is _going to be understanding of who we are to each other. We can't change that. Be we can control how we cope with it."

"Right now I just want to cry," I say.

"I'm here, baby," he says. "I've got you."

And he does. He keeps me close all night.

**. . .**

**Bella's riddle answer for Edward: tomorrow**


	30. Mine

**This chapter will certainly alienate any fence-perchers.**

**And … hopefully bring lurkers who love my story out of boring, murky McLurkdom. Come play with me!**

**. . . **

For the next month, I stumble around under a storm cloud as I wait for Rose to spill our secret. Once she tells Emmett, it's over. There's no way he'll be subtle or quiet about his feelings. And then Alice will know. Once she knows, everyone will.

I lose my appetite and my weight drops. Edward feeds me a Hershey's candy bar almost every day. I wouldn't eat it, except he gives me the bites in between kisses and caresses. As the impending doom hangs over us, we grow even closer, and I'm terrified of losing it. Every smile, every look, every touch becomes something to cherish.

And I'm angry at Rose because I've unwittingly given her too much power over my life, but she blindsided me. I couldn't have denied the truth, even if I'd tried.

I spend most of my time running, considering the scenarios.

Rose tells Emmett, he loses it and Alice finds out. Alice feels compelled to tell Dad, and he can't … won't … look at me anymore because his heart is broken. He's disgusted and hates me. He nixes the idea of me and Edward moving in together, so I have to give up IU for IPFW to stay in Fort Wayne, and I feel like an unwanted prisoner in my own home.

Dad finds out and immediately kicks both me and Edward out of the house. He says we no longer have a dad. We no longer have financial support, or a place to live. No family, no friends. Edward hangs himself like Mom did, and soon afterwards, so do I.

That's a horrible one and makes me cry so hard that I can't see straight.

Emmett finds out and is okay with it.

Emmett finds out and beats Edward up in the front yard, and when Dad comes to find out what it's all about, Emmett yells that Dad has a pair of incestuous kids in front of the whole neighborhood.

Dad can't believe we've been lying to him for all of these years, but we've all he's got and so he eventually accepts our relationship … as long as we never shove it in his face.

Alice finds out and never wants to see me again. She and Rose, and Jasper and Emmett, ignore us and Dad wants to know why they never come around anymore.

"Bella, you're destroying yourself," Edward tells me. "Stop it. We'll deal with this one step at a time, like we always have."

"I'm afraid," I say. "All the time, I'm so afraid. I don't want to lose you. And I hate the thought that I might."

He pulls me onto his lap straddle-style. "You won't ever lose me. We are adults now, Bella. Even if Dad found out about us and didn't allow us to get that apartment in South Bend, we would still find ways to be together. It's not going to destroy _us._ Not if you don't let it."

His eyes are as soft as the pads of his fingers on my face, and my heart turns over in my chest.

When did our rolls switch? He used to do all the worrying, and I was the accepting one.

"How did you get through this?" I ask him. "When we were younger and you were afraid we'd get caught?"

He puts his forehead against mine. "I got through it because of you."

I push my hands into his hair and kiss him as softly as I can. I'm always startled by how _much_ I feel for him—it just kind of floods my whole being every once in a while, stealing my breath. Sometimes it hurts because I love him so much. I want to laugh and I want to cry because it's too much!

"Josie," I laugh against his mouth.

He wants to keep kissing, but I'm still laughing. "What?"

"Josie Geller. That movie _Never Been Kissed._"

I give him a look of heavy significance, which he returns with an uplifted eyebrow.

"She was right," I tell him. "When I kiss you, I want to laugh and cry because I love you so much, and I'm terrified at the same time that I'm going to lose it all."

Edward huffs out a laugh and leans forward to bite my neck gently, and every inch of my skin is aware of every inch of his.

"You said you couldn't imagine being stuck kissing only one person for the rest of your life," I say breathlessly as he soothes the bite with his tongue and lips.

"I was lying," he murmurs and kisses his way back up to my lips. "I wanted to kiss you so badly, and only you."

"You did," I say. "That night, you did."

He gives me one of his soul-spinning kisses, the kind that leaves me dazed while my insides burn.

"I know I did. It was our first kiss," he says against my lips, pulling me closer to him.

"Tell me we're going to make it," I beg him. "Please."

"I will, if you say it back to me." His expression is both fierce and solemn.

"Yes."

"Bella, we're going to make it," he says, and I take an unsteady breath at the intensity of his tone.

"We're going to make it, Edward," I say and press my own promise against his kiss-bruised mouth.

**. . .**

On Sunday, August 24, Edward and I move into our apartment. Alice and Jasper left for Chicago a couple of days ago, so it's just Dad and Emmett helping us. I'm sure she hates herself for it, but for whatever reason, Rose is keeping our secret, and I breathe through every moment like the miracle it is.

We bought a couple of Ikea beds, bookshelves and bedroom furniture, so the bulk of the time is spent trying to put those together. One of the end tables and a recliner from the basement at home is in our new living room, with plans to find a garage sale sofa someplace nearby. We already found some kitchenware, but I wanted some cast iron skillets because nothing else can compare. And nothing quite says _home _like a couple of soft rugs I can walk on barefoot, so I begged Dad to splurge there.

I meticulously scrub the inside of the kitchen cabinets, hang old bath towels lovingly on their racks, and set out vanilla-scented candles on every available flat space. When it's all said and done, we have the beginnings of a new home. It's a hodge-podge of mis-matched and differently colored furniture and fabrics, but it's the most beautiful, wonderful thing I've seen lately and I couldn't love it anymore if it was the Ritz.

We order out for pizza and sit around the lone coffee table, while Dad sits in the recliner. I drink a Coke, while the three of them have well-deserved beers.

"None of this when I'm gone, young lady," Dad says to me and raises the bottle of Bud in his hand.

I feel a pang as I realize that should be the least of his worries, and I feel horrible for a long moment until I push the feeling away.

"I wouldn't, Dad," I say and put my hand over my chest, and I mean it sincerely. I hate beer. It's awful, and I don't know how they can stand it.

"This place rocks," Emmett says, punches his chest once, and belches. "But now it's a home."

Dad chuffs out a laugh and belches by mistake, and then Edward is belching and I want to barf.

"Okay, now for the rules," Dad tells us a bit later.

Edward frowns. "The rules?"

"That's right," Dad says and frowns back at him.

"Okay, hit me," I say and sit at his feet Indian style. At this moment, I'm prepared to give in to almost anything. If Edward knows what good for himself, he'd better, too.

Dad pulls out a piece of paper from his back pocket, and spends a good amount of time smoothing out the creases as Emmett horks with laughter.

"Rule number one: do not drink and drive. _Ever. _I can't stop either of you from drinking, I know this, but you will _not _drink and drive."

Edward and I do the equivalent of crossing our hearts, hoping to die, and sticking a needle in our eyes.

"Rule number two: no drugs, no smoking. No pot, no uppers, no downers. Get enough sleep and always have some coffee or Coke on hand, and you'll be fine. Understand?"

That's an easy one. Both Edward and I are active and good grade-oriented. Drugs would definitely interfere with that.

"Rule number three: no big parties. You're here to study. You can have dinner and study parties, but big parties? I'll send the cops after you two if I need to."

We agree not to hang from the chandelier or play any games of quarters.

"Rule number f—"

"This is a lot of rules, Emmett says.

"Shut up, you. Rule number four: _always _answer my phone calls. I don't care what time it is, if you're in the bathroom, or if you're in class. You. Will. Answer. Your. Phone. Got it?"

We solemnly swear on our iPhones.

And then Dad is up and saying that's all, he's leaving now, and my throat is closing in panic and fear. Before he can get too near the front door, I've got my arms wrapped like a cobra around him and I'm sobbing like an idiot.

"Aw, come on, Bella, you big baby," Emmett says and pats my back hard enough to make me squeak.

"Now, now. I'm not leaving forever," Dad says and sways us back and forth in a hug. Not that he has a choice. I'm not letting go yet. I can't. "I'm only a phone call away. I promise I'll always pick up, too, no matter what time it is. Okay?"

"Okay," I sniff. "I love you, Daddy."

"Ohhhh, she's pulling out the _Daddy,_" Emmett says.

"Shut up, Em," Dad growls.

"Alright, dude, I'm taking off. I'll catch you in a couple of weeks, yeah?"

He and Edward do the one-arm guy hug and slap each other's backs.

"Thanks for helping us, Em."

Dad finally escapes my arms and then he's hugging Edward and murmuring in his ear too lowly for me to hear. I bet he's telling Edward not to let me date a jerk, or anybody at all, or something.

When Dad and Emmett are gone, Edward and I stare across the living room at each other. He looks as surprised and excited as I feel, and then he springs at me and tries to kiss me with his beer breath.

"Go brush your teeth," I giggle at him and push him away.

He turns and grabs his bottle, then holds it out to me. "Drink."

"No way! Dad's not even out of the parking lot yet. Are you losing it?"

"I have no idea where my toothbrush is. Take a swig so I can kiss you, damn it."

I happen to know his toothbrush is hanging in the holder inside of the medicine cabinet, but maybe he's right and having to brush his teeth would ruin our celebratory moment. So I take a drink, wince and shudder.

"Ugh!"

He takes the bottle back after making me take another big swig, and then he's got his hands under my armpits and he's swinging me in circles around the room. My flying feet knock the pizza box off the coffee table. Thank God it's empty.

"We're home!" he yells.

I just smile. Part of me feels like home walked out the door a few minutes ago.

"It's okay, Bella," he says and pulls me into the recliner with him. "I forget that this is your first time being away from home, on your own. At least you've got me, though."

I snuggle in his arms. "At least we've got each other," I correct him.

"And we'll take care of each other now."

"I'm not doing your laundry."

"Not even my socks?"

"Especially not your socks."

He laughs and digs his fingers into my sides. "You can chase me, but I'll always be miles away. What am I?"

"I'm not chasing you," I laugh and try to squirm away, but he surprises me by dumping me head-first out of the chair. He smacks my butt on my way to the floor, and then he's racing away from me and I'm chasing him like I just said I wouldn't.

We end up in his bedroom, in the bigger bed. I didn't get a chance to put the sheets on yet, so they're still folded neatly at the end of the bed until our kicking feet knock them off.

"The sheets," I yelp.

He flips me over onto my back and then pins my hands to the mattress.

"Forget the sheets," he says and the look in his eyes makes my heart jump. It's the look that turns me into mush in two seconds flat.

"Do you want me?" he whispers.

"A-A-Always," I stutter because that look on his face makes a giddy fool out of me.

"I don't want to wait another second," he says and brings his lips slowly, slowly to mine. As he barely touches me, he whispers, "I _can't_ wait anymore, Bella. It's all I think of lately. So tell me: do you want me?"

He's nuts. He had me at _forget the sheets._

"I want you," I say and weave my fingers into his hair so I can finally yank his teasing mouth to mine.

And before we get carried away, because I know we will, I say, "I've been on birth control for two months now. So you don't, you know, need a condom."

He groans and lays his forehead against my chest.

"What?" I gasp. Does he _want _to use a condom?

"You're killing me," he says.

"How?"

He just laughs. "You don't even know how you tempt me, and then you go and say _that._"

"I tempt you?"

"Yes. You're perfect, Bella, I swear everything you do—it's like you're just made for me. The way you smile and joke with me, how you look at me sometimes, how you always know just what to say. You walk in a room … and I want to be your oxygen."

He's definitely my oxygen now as he slants his mouth across mine almost harshly, suddenly fierce and hard and taking. He's what I need, what I want, so I'm soft, willing and giving, because I love to give him what he needs, to be what he wants. And we're not living a lie when we're together like this. In fact, it's the only time we don't have to lie.

"I love you," he whispers brokenly and there are tears in his eyes. "No matter what."

For once, I refuse to cry. I'll be the strong now. "I love you more," I whisper back and smooth my thumb across the thick eyebrows that can make him look forbidding, or sad puppy-like if he chooses.

"No, you don't," he says and takes my bottom lip in his mouth. His eyes are still fierce and tear-filled, and he sinks his teeth deliberately into the soft of my mouth. And I'm all his so I close my eyes in surrender.

"Mine," he says.

"All yours."

"I will never find anyone as perfect as you are," he breathes.

"I'm not per—"

He kisses me again and again until I'm hot and burning and the world spins in colors of rose and velvet black. And then he's pushing my t-shirt up and releasing my arms so he can slide it off. His chest is bare against mine, and then we're bare from toe to neck and it's like silk against hot steel and I can't get enough as we slide and move together.

His breath fans out jerkily against my breasts as he cups and lifts them to his mouth. I arch, wanting his tongue and his teeth and something … something just out of reach, but close enough to tantalize and make me feel like I'm breaking apart in the best of ways.

"I want to see you," I breathe because he's never let me see him and I'm not going to let him get away with it this time. I want his skin, his colors, his heat, to sear me from the inside out so I can never forget.

"I can't," he says. Gulps. "I'll come if I see you looking at me, Bella."

I whine and arch and try to push him off, and he lets me. He backs up and I push myself up on my elbows to see what he's been denying me. And I notice his eyes, his black eyes, are devouring my body like I want to devour his.

His chest is lean, but well-defined, and I count a one-two-three-four-pack. His nipples are pink, hard little buds that match his lips in color, and I push myself up to my knees because I have to kiss them. His nipples. His lips. He groans as my mouth and my teeth encircle him, and I bite him _hard _because he's _mine _and I want him to know it. To feel it, to see it.

He yelps and flinches as my palm runs down his silken skin from his ribs to the V at his hips.

"Let me," I say when his hands tangle with mine to try and keep me from touching him. He moans, grabs the base of his erection and squeezes. And I'm all loving, craving, hot eyes as I stare at him, at the purple-red head of his cock. He's big, and I think that's why he didn't let me see him before now—because he thought his size would scare me. Which it kind of does, at the same time that it excites me.

"Bellllllla," he says and thrusts in his hand and I see that _yes_, he is close to coming. His thick fencer's thighs are powerful, strong columns of muscle, but nothing can keep my eyes from his cock. I want it inside me. I need it inside me.

"You're beautiful," I say. "You're perfect."

We fall back on the bed together, and he's surging between my legs, dragging his cock against my wetness and shaking like he's ready to break apart already.

I lift my hips on his next movement and the head of his cock slips inside me.

"Fuck," he says and hooks both his arms under my thighs to lift my bum up off the bed. I'm totally open and vulnerable to him now, and I love it.

"Please," I say. "Do it. I'm yours, Edward."

He moves in me slightly, then pulls back and moves in farther. But his back is arched away from me like it hurts, like he's afraid.

"It's going to hurt," he says. "Bella, I don't want to hurt you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

I arch back and, using my feet, pull him into me. He sinks inside until his hips hit me, and the pain stings and makes me cry out despite myself. It's tearing and I'm tight and breaking, but he's inside me and his eyes on are mine and it's all right.

"Oh god," he breathes.

I breathe back, but I'm out of words, so I run my hands up his arms, which are shaking, and tighten my legs around his waist. It burns, it burns, but it burns so good.

"Bella," he says. "Are you alright?"

I arch under him and he groans again like he's in pain. Which he probably is, because he's not moving.

"You can move," I tell him.

"So good," he moans. "It feels so good, and I hate that it doesn't for you."

"It's okay," I say. "I want you to come inside me. Now. _Now_."

It's the impetus he needs, and he moves in me once, twice, gently, oh so gently, and then he's crying real tears and jerking and breaking apart in my arms.

And he's mine like he never was before.

**. . .**

**Edward's riddle answer for Bella: the horizon**


End file.
